


prom is gay but so are we so let's just fuckin do it

by Rinbin



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (not really an AU but this is like a hybrid between american school and japanese school), Akira is a Little Shit, Alternate Universe - High School, Asexual Yusuke, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Gen, How is that not a tag, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, No Metaverse (Persona 5), Prom, Promposal, gay awakening incoming, guys bein dudes, it's all gonna happen eventually folks, just good wholesome teenagers, maybe eventual smut? maybe not? idk yet, not severe, the prom AU no one asked for but u have to be the change u wish to see in the world so here we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinbin/pseuds/Rinbin
Summary: Ryuji forgot about prom and Akira's got the last, unclaimed ticket. The price? Ryuji's gotta ask Akira to prom. And he really,reallydoesn't wanna fuck it up.***alternatively: "why is everyone always gay when you write" my boyfriend asks. "bc they gotta be gay somewhere" i answer. (lookin @ u atlus)





	1. Promposals: ridiculous. Akira's smile: not ridiculous.

**Author's Note:**

> "rin don't you have another fic you're woefully neglecting already"  
> yes  
> "rin no one asked for this just focus on your other one"  
> ....but....but.....
> 
>  
> 
> _prom_

The posters had been up for weeks. _Weeks._ And they weren’t exactly subtle posters. They were large. They were bright _._ They were _gaudy._ You had to walk at least 3 feet from the walls lest you brush up against one and be cursed to find glitter everywhere you went for the next 3 days. If you made eye contact with the poster, the neon colors burned your retinas. They were next to impossible to miss.

 

Leave it to Ryuji Sakamoto to miss ‘em.

 

“ _What?!_ ” he exclaims, jumping to his feet, his chair squealing as it scrapes against the linoleum floor. Everyone stops for half a second to see where the noise came from, but when they see who, they mumble to themselves and get back to their boring PB&Js and their I-Think-It’s-Chicken? school sandwiches.

“I _said_ ,” Ann says around a particularly peanut butter-y bite, “Have you asked anyone to prom yet?”

“Prom’s not for like, another coupla months!” Ryuji shouts, but he can feel it, that cool sense of dread deep in his stomach. It’s the same feeling he gets when Mishima asks him if he studied for the history test and Ryuji asks, already knowing the answer, “What history test?” It’s the same feeling he gets when he hears his mom’s keys in the lock and _fuck, shit,_ he forgot to clean his room even though he promised to have it done by the time she got home. It’s the exact same feeling he’s--randomly, inexplicably--started to get now whenever someone teases Akira and asks how many girlfriends he has (the feeling always happens in the small space between the question and Akira’s polite but firm “would you quit asking that?” Ryuji has no idea what he’s afraid of hearin’ but the non-answer does little to absolve the dread).

“Ryuji,” Makoto says evenly, carefully, “Prom’s next week.”

The dread freezes in his veins and everything goes wicked cold for a few seconds. He wants to argue but he can’t. Makoto’s head of the prom committee. Ann’s her co-chair. They would know. He flops down into his chair, the legs of it squeaking again against the floor, and he buries his face in his hands. The dread turns to fire as he flushes, embarrassed to have missed something so freakin’ obvious.

 _Shit!_ Somehow, amidst all of the posters, all of Makoto and Ann’s committee talk, all of the freakin’ “promposals” that were happenin’ every day (“ _I thought the school just caught the lovebug or somethin’!” “He spelled ‘PROM’ in candles, Ryuji. Prom!! In candles!!”)..._ Ryuji missed the boat. Just stared blankly ahead as the freakin’ prom boat left the dock and headed towards a gleeful, joyous, quintessential high school experience. Jesus. He couldn’t even remember what day it was; how the hell was he supposed to remember _prom?_

Akira pats him gently on the back, a solid presence between his two shoulder blades. It’s lunchtime at Shujin, the only time they can all get together in one place: Makoto, Ann, Ryuji, and Akira. Normally Haru would be with them, but she missed a test last week and was making it up now. They also had two other friends: Yusuke, who attended an art school across town, and Futaba, who preferred to attend high school from the comforts of her own room and a keyboard. They were a band of misfits, to be sure, and probably wouldn’t have ever been friends if not for the strange coincidences that brought them together.

“There, there,” Akira soothes, “You can’t be the _only_ one who missed all the countdowns on the board, the daily school announcements, the weekly emails to get your tickets before they’re sold out...” His tone rises into something teasing at the end and Ryuji half-heartedly swats his hand away. Across the table Makoto and Ann giggle.

“Oh c’mon, Ryuji, you didn’t _actually_ forget, did you?” Ann bats her eyelashes playfully.

“W-well! I mean...s’not like I’m lookin’ at the board anyway!” he defends, face growing hotter. This sets them off into another round of laughter, their eyes crinkling and laughs full-bellied and loud. Even Akira, who normally doesn’t muster up more than a chuckle, wraps an arm around his middle as a sound bubbles up from deep in his chest. It’s higher pitched than you’d think and a little airy, kind of like a giggle; Ryuji doesn’t get to hear it too often, so when he does, he finds it usually makes him smile too. Even if it’s at his own expense.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he groans, dropping his hands from his face into his lap. _Shit._ What now? What friggin’ now? You were supposed to go with someone, weren’t ya?

Then: a thought. His face lights up brighter than the goddamn sun and Akira, who’d been laughing a moment ago, suddenly grows quiet when he notices. His face falls into something calm, almost dazed.

“Ann!” Ryuji says cheerfully, his tone dripping with adoration, “Oh, dear, sweet sweet Ann, beautiful Ann, _Lady_ Ann, love of my-”

“Shut it,” she deadpans, “I already asked Shiho.”

“ _What?!_ When?! _”_

“Three weeks ago, buddy. Took me an entire weekend to hide all the clues downtown. In retrospect it was probably not a great idea hiding them in a town even _she_ wasn’t familiar with, but I won major points for romantic creativity.”

“She doesn’t even go here!” Ryuji protests. It’s not that he’s mad Shiho could be coming--he did actually miss her, especially in Bio when she’d been his lab partner (and, despite it all, still somehow his friend)--but Ann was his go-to. His number one gal. They’d met in early elementary when Ann loaned him bus fare because he’d bought his mom a plush dolphin (he was totally a Mama’s Boy at heart) but she moved away not long after that to be carted across the globe with her parents. A couple years later she was back and attending Ryuji’s middle school. They recognized each other and shortly after they had a fated, torrid love affair that only middle schoolers can have, the kind where you pass a note asking to hug after school and nearly die as they write their response back. It ended as quickly as it had begun, in a texting fight in which they exchanged dramatic song lyrics until someone (neither could remember who) sent the full lyrics to “I Gotta Go My Own Way” and that was that. When she moved away again in the spring, though, they exchanged heartfelt goodbyes.

She returned sophomore year she was like someone new. Well, sorta. She acted pretty much the same: could still kick a dude’s butt in an eating contest and was friendlier than ever, but middle school does no one any favors and she’d left those years long behind her. She caught the attention of the school, her blonde hair poofin’ all over the place, blue eyes and clear skin the envy of literally everyone, and Ryuji figured she’d forgotten about their middle school fling and friendship. She gained popularity so quickly that he figured she’d forgotten about him entirely, in fact, until he passed her in the halls. She was against a locker, listening to music, when she reached into the crowd of students and pulled Ryuji to the side. He had protested at first then fell silent when he saw who had tugged him. Ann simply went, “Hey, I’m listening to our song _,”_ and pulled out her earbud for Ryuji to hear. When the faint sounds of “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” hit his ears, he knew he had his old friend back.

Ryuji met Shiho not long after that; according to Ann, Shiho was the first person who didn’t seem to want somethin’ from Ann, just liked her for who she was. He knew vaguely of Shiho before then; she was star of the volleyball team and had the reputation of being an all-around sweet girl. Their paths just never crossed. Soon everything was Ann, Shiho, and Ryuji. It was the kind of closeness he needed after an injury kept him from joining the track team again (he was forever thankful they never asked about it--it was a touchy subject he didn’t like to bring up). Gradually he started to notice the lingering eyes, the light touches, and Ryuji’s not like...a smart man, but he ain’t dumb either. He’d been the middleman to their _excruciating_ will-they-won’t-they love story until finally, just before Shiho moved away, Ann made her move and kissed Shiho under the end-of-the-year fireworks. It was pretty magical, he wasn’t gonna lie, and it made all the “She said she liked me? _Me?_ ”’s he had to hear worth it.

 _Still,_ though, Shiho went to a different school now. Ryuji was hoping he could take Ann--as friends, of course--since Shiho wouldn’t be able to go. Ryuji didn’t know much about proms, but he did know they weren’t usually open invitation.

“Guest pass, dumbass,” Ann smirks. _Ugh._ Duh. He forgot that part. His eyes flick quickly to Makoto but instead of asking her, he just rolls his eyes.

“Haru, I know,” he says with an annoyed wave of his hand.

“Actually, I didn’t ask Haru,” Makoto informs him, and though surprise shoots through Ryuji’s body, a small voice in the back of his head cautions him with proceeding further.

“Why not?” his brow furrows, “Ain’t you two datin’?”

“Yes, but I decided not to ask her,” Makoto’s voice wavers slightly and she brings a hand up to her mouth, covering what Ryuji knows has gotta be a smile. Akira leans over and throws his arm around Ryuji’s shoulders, pulling the boy into his chest. Immediately Ryuji’s hit with a wave of spices and coffee--Akira’s telltale scent from all the time he spent living above Sojiro’s cafe--and the prom panic he was feelin’ in his stomach starts to calm a bit. Akira’s got that kinda aura, y’know? Everything could be goin’ to hell and Akira would just sorta appear at your elbow and everything would feel good again. He breathes in deeply through his nose and lets the scent of coffee wash over him.

“Don’t taunt him, Makoto,” Akira says, scolding her lightly. He turns his head slightly to Ryuji and his voice drops as he whispers: “She asked Futaba so we can have the whole crew. Haru asked Yusuke a couple days ago. You don’t remember us talking about this like, two months ago?”

Ryuji ignores the way Akira’s voice makes his body buzz, attributes it to a caffeine high he was gettin’ just from smelling it on Akira, then narrows his eyes at Makoto. She grins back innocently.

“We gotta stop hangin’ out with lesbians, man,” Ryuji mutters.

“Bisexual erasure!” Ann coughs into her fist. Her eyes glint playfully but Ryuji doesn’t miss the hardness behind her eyes--he knows it’s deserved.

“Ah, shit,” Ryuji kicks himself inwardly, “My bad. Next time just punch me, that’ll prolly make it sink in better,” he says sheepishly. Ann shakes her fist at him, but the playfulness in her eyes remain. Ryuji misses the way Makoto makes eye contact with Akira, an eyebrow raised, and the slight shake of head he gives her back.

“When did all of this happen? How did I miss all of you gettin’ dates?”

“I asked Futaba through an HTML code,” Makoto says, “You wouldn’t have seen it. I sent it to her computer. I had to bribe the coding team with a new meeting room for the help, but it was worth it when Futaba sent me an excited selfie,” she giggles.

Ann taps her chin thoughtfully. “Haru’s is still on the roof, I think. Should be, anyway. Yusuke asked her to preserve it.”

“Yeah, I was helping her water it yesterday,” Akira responds, “It’s still there if you wanted to go see it.” He shrugs and looks at Ryuji. Ryuji’s about to agree--he loves hangin’ on the roof more than a lot of things--but an untouched lunch catches Ryuji’s attention. He suddenly sits back down in his seat, dropping away from Akira’s arm and into the cold plastic. He’d been so preoccupied with this whole prom business he forgot he’s only got like, twenty minutes total to eat. He takes an eager bite of his chicken sandwich (word “chicken” used liberally) and speaks through the mouthful.

“The roof? She do somethin’ with her garden?”

“Spelled PROM in the flower bushes,” Ann nods, “Yusuke loved it, said it was ‘the most aesthetically pleasing thing he’s seen all week.’”

Ryuji snorts, “Typical Yusuke.”

“There’s always Mishima,” Makoto offers. Before Ryuji can protest that he’s 300% not gay and 300% not into Mishima, a boy in a white turtleneck is turning around and pressing the palms of his hands into their table. He was right next to them, discussing things with the volleyball table, which unfortunately was right next to theirs--unfortunate really only for the fact he’s heard Makoto, because normally Ryuji doesn’t mind the guy or the volleyball team in general. Mishima leans between Ann and Akira, head tilted towards Makoto.

“What about me?” he asks.

“Ryuji forgot prom was next week,” answers Ann. She gestures to him with the remaining bite of her lunch, “And he doesn’t have a date.”

“H-hey! I’m not-” Ryuji starts, but Mishima interrupts him with a loud laugh. He makes a face as he says:

“You wish, Sakamoto.” 

Mishima had started as only a good friend of Shiho, too shy to get to know Ann once she and Shiho became friends, but when Ryuji started hangin’ with the girls Mishima came out of his shell a little. When Shiho and Mishima joined the volleyball team, they’d been pretty brutally hazed due to their age and size (Mishima was a small kid). They proved themselves on the court every single time they stepped onto it, but kids could be brutal. The coach wasn’t much better--this was something Ryuji knew well--and eventually it was enough to push Shiho to seek a different, more encouraging school. When she transferred, everyone thought Mishima would’ve gone with her, but he stayed behind. A year later, the team had a new coach and Mishima as captain: exactly what it needed to change the team’s song and dance. These days the volleyball team oozed positivity and friendliness.

“I definitely do _not_ wish, thank you,” Ryuji snaps. Mishima waves with his hand, acting bored with the conversation. Mishima was normally shy as hell, stammerin’ all over the place (es _pec_ ially when Akira was around), but when it came to Ryuji he turned into the stereotypical cocky captain of the school’s star team. The faux-arrogance comes off of him in waves, just as Ryuji’s faux-irritation does. Ryuji didn’t have siblings but sometimes, with Mishima, it sure felt like he did.

When Mishima turns back around, Ann stifles a laugh in her fist and Makoto rolls her eyes with a smile. Akira rests his hand in palm, propping his elbow on the table. He looks at Ryuji and sighs dramatically, the finger to his other hand tracing random patterns on the table until it gets to Ryuji. He pokes at him a few times. Ryuji’s eyes narrow at him when his finger presses into his arm.

“What about Morgana?”

 

Okay, we should probably talk about Morgana real quick. Morgana was a cat, and it should probably end there, except that it doesn’t. Morgana could talk. And not in the creepy “oh long johnson” kind of way, but in a full on this-is-english-we-are-communicating-like-humans way. The cat had just sorta shown up at Leblanc--Sojiro’s cafe, the place Akira lived--the day after Akira arrived and was like “Hey, I’m Morgana.”

(Akira had a minor crisis, was sure he was going crazy, until the cat explained that he wasn’t going crazy).

(I mean of course a cat would say that even if you _were_ going crazy but that’s beside the point). 

(The point is the cat talked and it’d been long enough everyone was chill with it).

 

Ryuji’s laugh sputters out between his lips. “I think the answer to that one is pretty obvious, dude.”

“Aw why not? Morgana’d look cute in a bowtie!” Ann coos. Akira grimaces, positive that Morgana would tear a bowtie off his neck the second it got put on. He bends to the side, leaning to push open his bag. Inside Morgana sleeps sounding and Akira’s positive he would be able to hear his purrs if the cafeteria didn’t always sound like a freakin’ zoo. How Morgana can sleep in this noise he has no idea, but at least _one_ of them was getting some rest.

Akira feels a foot thud into his shin and his eyes flash up. Ryuji’s got a lopsided smile on his face aimed directly at Akira. Akira feels a familiar jolt through his body when he sees it, something flushing warm and yet cool in his veins. This happened every time Ryuji smiled at Akira: every. single. time. It was rather problematic, actually, since Ryuji was smiling nearly all of the time. And yet, Akira never got used to it; every time he saw it, it was like the first.

“Nothing wrong with goin’ stag, eh?” he wiggles his eyebrows at Akira, “We’re bound to run into some single ladies!” Something flips in Akira’s stomach but doesn’t get a chance to respond because Ryuji’s already turning towards Ann and Makoto, hand held out in front of him.

“Alright, hand over a ticket, I’ll pay ya tomorrow or something.”

Ann and Makoto exchange a look.

“Er, we...can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have one.”

“Whaddya mean you don’t have one?”

“I _mean,_ ” Makoto says sternly, “That we’re sold out. Prom’s been sold out for the past week, Ryuji.” Her cheeks flush red out of misplaced embarrassment and pity for her friend. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“You’re the head of the committee!” Ryuji’s voice cracks at the desperation, “J-just make me one or some shit!”

“Maybe someone will ask you…?” Ann offers, shrugging her shoulders gently. She feels guilty suddenly; she’d been so busy planning prom she didn’t even realize Ryuji hadn’t bought his ticket yet. She should’ve set one aside for him--for all of them, actually--just in case someone forgot. Because someone _did_ forget. Perhaps she could talk to the teacher sponsors? Kawakami might not give enough fucks to care if they bend the rules. She’d been rather exasperated lately.

Ryuji huffs and pushes his lunch away from him, suddenly not very hungry at all. Stupid freakin’ prom.

“We both know no one’s gonna ask me,” he pouts. There’s no self-deprecation in his tone, just something like brutal honesty, and it kind of breaks his friends’ hearts. Makoto’s bottom lip juts out as she turns to Ann, who sighs heavily in response. Akira’s face stay under control--no surprise there--but inside his stomach flips again. Suddenly, though, something wonderful and wicked comes to mind. He can’t help the smirk that grows across his face and the casual way he leans back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Unless…” Akira begins, the thought taking more form in his mind and _oh yes_ this was a good idea, this was a very good and very terrible idea indeed. “You could ask me?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Not really in the mood for jokes anymore, man.”

“I’m serious,” Akira says, cocking his head to the side, “I have a ticket. There was someone I was going to ask, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. You can have it, if you want, but you have to ask me to go.”

“W-wait, what?!” Ryuji leans towards Akira as Ann giggles a hearty “yes!”

“You can have my extra ticket,” Akira repeats, voice clear and sure across the table. Ryuji’s face flushes about a thousand different colors before landing on a bright red akin to the Shujin gym uniform. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, shock running strong through his veins. He buzzes, buzzes everywhere, electricity sharp beneath his skin. He can feel how hot his face is and honestly he shouldn’t be surprised, Akira pulls shit like this all the time, but for some reason the thought of takin’ Akira to prom-- _as a date,_ not just a fellow stag--makes his hands get all sweaty.

“B-but I gotta ask you to prom?! Dude no way!” his gaze shifts to the side, refusing to meet Akira’s deep gray eyes, “I don’t wanna go _that_ bad!”

Akira shrugs, cool as ever. “Fine,” his says casually, “I needed someone to watch over Morgana anyway.”

Ryuji growls, irritated, because Akira is _well aware_ that Ryuji and Morgana don’t get along. Ryuji contemplates it for a hot second, though, wondering how bad an entire evening with Morgana could be.

“Be forewarned, he makes you go to bed at like, 9.”

 _Ugh._ Effin’ Akira. Actually, Ryuji couldn’t imagine anything worse than a stuffy evening with only Morgana _and_ an early bedtime, askin’ your best bro to prom included. He turns his bright eyes to Akira, locking onto him with something he hopes is a glare (it’s more an embarrassed gaze, what with the way Ryuji is decidedly avoiding Akira’s eyes and instead settling rather obviously on his chest).

“If you’ve got the ticket, why don’t _you_ ask _me_?” he mumbles, chin dropping to his chest as he folds his arms. Akira shrugs again.

“I’m not the one up a creek without a paddle, my friend.” He sends an evil smirk in Ryuji’s direction, and Ryuji’s eyes dart away again in response. Ann and Makoto watch the whole exchange gleefully, not daring to interrupt with a word, noise, or movement. Akira got like this from time to time: it was like he became a whole different person. He was quieter, collected, effortlessly cool. He was a little aloof at times and a little distant at others, but this mysteriousness was part of what caught people’s attention. It’s definitely what drew his friends in, feeling pulled by his unruffled energy.

Occasionally, though, he let out a darker side. He’d do something mischievous, like swipe something off a teacher’s desk and not say a word while they spent half the period trying to find it. Or he’d say something sassy, reducing one of his friends into a pile of ashes (Futaba would usually scream, “ROAST THEM, AKIRA” while everyone laughed). Sometimes he’d do something downright wicked, like he was with Ryuji right now, exploiting the blond’s desire to go to prom with what Ann could only assume was a desire to mess with his best friend. It was fun to see this side of Akira, especially at Ryuji’s expense.

Ryuji frowns. “What about the girl you were gonna ask? Don’tcha wanna still ask her?”

He hates the way his body continues to buzz with somethin’ inexplicable, the way something hot flares in his chest when he thinks about the fact Akira has a girlfriend (or, maybe, just someone he’s interested in) and Ryuji had _no freakin’ idea._ It gets him angrier than he expected; he feels weirdly...protective? Jealous? He couldn’t place it, couldn’t pin down the exact feeling, but he knew he didn’t like this tidbit of information. He didn’t like he was finding out about it now, as Akira dangled a prom ticket above his head with apparently no other desire than to embarrass the shit outta him. He thought they were best buds! Weren’t they supposed to tell each other everything? Geez, Ryuji had told Akira about that one _dream_ he had about their teacher Ms. Kawakami and that was embarrassing as hell--where was the mutual respect?!

Akira snorts and waves his hand, but there’s a long pause before he responds. His smirk falters and the pause is a little too long to be nothing, but he speaks before anyone can think too hard about it: “No...she, uh, she was just a last ditch effort. I’d much rather keep the group together.” Then he’s back, cool and evil once again, hand snaking into his hair and running his fingers through it.

“What do you say, blondie?” he winks, “Wanna take me to prom?”

“ _Ugh,”_ Ryuji groans, “No. You’re insufferable.”

“Aw, c’mon Ryuji, we really want you to go to prom,” Ann interjects, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. She holds back her idea that Kawakami would let them bend the rules and waits--she’d much rather see _this_ than watch Ryuji get into prom without a little skin off his teeth. To be fair, he forgot because he’s an oblivious dork. He had to pay for it somehow, even just a little bit.

“It wouldn’t be the same without you,” Makoto nods, her voice sincere, and damn if it doesn’t make Ryuji suddenly worry about missin’ out on that damn classic high school night, full of cheesy decorations and itchy suits and punch and snuck-in flasks and inside jokes and dancing and-

“Goddammit,” he mutters under his breath, “Fine. Uh, Akira? W-would you wanna go to p-prom with, uh, me?” he stammers out, not able to keep his eyes on Akira for more than a second before looking away again. His face feels hotter than ever and he’s positive he could hide in Haru’s tomato plants and blend in perfectly.

The bell rings just then and the entire cafeteria shifts, the wave of students gathering their things and their momentum to head to the rest of the day’s classes. Akira gathers his tupperware and stands and Ryuji doesn’t miss how easy he moves, fluid like a freakin’ cat or something.

“Mmm,” Akira appears to think it over, “Nope.”

“W-what?! C’mon! You said I had to ask!”

“This is _prom,_ Ryuji,” Ann says, turning to toss her things in the trash. She hikes her bag up over her shoulder and smiles at Ryuji, who still sits, dumbfounded look on his face. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Akira points a finger at Ann as he lifts his bag delicately, gently threading his arm through the straps lest he disturb a sleeping Morgana, “Indeed,” he says, “I’m expecting a full on promposal.”

“Oh come on!” Ryuji’s voice cracks again, “That’s not fair! Dude, seriously, throw me a bone. Just lemme take the effin’ ticket. I’m not gonna freakin’ _propose_ to you.”

“It’s _prom_ -pose. And you either do that or you don’t go.”

Then Akira effin’ _beams_ at him, his smile wide and toothy and uncharacteristically playful. His eyes seem to dance behind his glasses, looking brighter and more devilish than Ryuji had ever seen, and it kind of makes him go weak. Or not _weak,_ cause it’s not like he’s got a crush on the dude, but it’s _unusual_ and it does somethin’ to him, that friggin’ buzz turning all the way up. He’s sure that if someone reached down and touched his arm they’d feel the vibrations. Ryuji stays stunned and seated, the harsh sounds of scraping chairs and loud chatter of the lunchroom rising as the students mingle together.

Before he realizes it, his friends have nearly disappeared into the throng of people. He jumps to feet, unable to sit still any longer, and cups a hand around his mouth.

“You’re a dick, Akira, you know that, right?!” he calls after his dark haired friend. He can’t see the tell-tale mess of hair any more, but a voice rings out:

“But you love me!”

And, dammit, fine. Maybe he does.

N-not like _that_ of course!

But alright: he can muster up a friggin’ promposal for his best bro.

Dude probly deserved it anyway.

Yeah...he could do this. 

‘Sides, it was just to get a ticket, right? It didn’t _mean_ anything. Just somethin’ fun.

 

R-right?


	2. Iguanas, Crickets, and Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The depths of youtube is a dangerous place for a boy just trying to figure out what a promposal even is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple things:  
> -they're seniors! akira transferred in junior year  
> -all the trauma they've experienced is on a lower scale in this AU. it's still shitty stuff but for example: in the last chapter, Shiho left Shujin for a more encouraging, opportunistic environment (instead of the fuckin terrible awful heart-wrenching story she has in canon)

“So you’re going to make him ask you to prom?” Morgana asks, perched on Akira’s shoulder. Akira slides a thumb under the strap of his bag and adjusts, allowing Morgana a moment fix his balance. Normally Morgana waits until they’re home to peep out of the bag and talk to Akira, but the closer they get to Leblanc, the less busy the streets got, and no one seemed to make much notice of the cat. Besides: to anyone else Morgana’s voice just sounded like meows, so at worst they’d just think Akira was crazy for carrying on a conversation with his cat, and Akira really didn’t mind. (He probably is crazy for talking to Morgana, so like...no judgement there).

“Yep,” he nods, smiling to himself as he thinks back to the school day. He’d gotten a flurry of irritated texts from Ryuji during History, but as all things were with Ryuji, there was an undercurrent of good-natured fun in each text. It didn’t take long for Ann to break the news in the group text, saying “Ryuji’s gonna ask Akira to prom!” Ryuji immediately clarified that he was being _coerced_ into it, but that didn’t stop anyone from teasing him about it.

“I thought you were gonna ask him?” Morgana says.

“No, I said I _wanted_ to ask him, but we both know how that would’ve gone,” Akira says with a light but sad laugh. Of everything Akira felt about Ryuji, there were two glaring problems: one, that he was impossible not to adore. Ryuji was a source of constant light in Akira’s life; wherever he went, Ryuji was there by his side, supporting him or challenging him or laughing with him. In fact, Ryuji was _the_ constant in his life, the only friend he didn’t have to try with, the only one that offered himself long before Akira asked anything of him. Ryuji just kind of stumbled across Akira’s path and rooted there, and over the past year he’d grown and bloomed and all Akira could do was watch, growing warm under the sunlight that burst from his skin, his eyes, his smile. Sure, Ryuji could be loud, a little obnoxious at times, and impulsive. But he was also kind, sincere, and good-hearted, and those qualities mattered a lot more to Akira than anything anyone else had to say about Ryuji.

The other problem (the bigger problem) was that Ryuji walked the line between aggressively straight and incredibly gay 99% of the time, completely oblivious. On the same day that Ryuji elbowed Akira and nodded at a girl downtown in a rather revealing outfit, he’d also offered the fact that he enjoys “noodles sliding down his throat” and “sweat dripping down his face” (Akira had actually choked on his ramen). Or there was that week where Akira helped Ryuji get the track team back together and Ryuji had thanked him for it afterwards, saying that being with Akira was like being free (that’s the day Akira had texted “Makoto...the things he says...”). _Or_ how about the Sunday brunch Ann had organized at a fancy restaurant buffet just two weeks ago? Everyone had chipped in to afford it, they all had eyes _way_ bigger than their stomachs, and Akira may have gotten swept up in the moment and let slip a little excited noise as he mentioned how happy he was to be eating all of this--he prided himself on his cool exterior, but c’mon, the food looked delicious. What, pray tell, did Ryuji say? _It’s cute hearin’ that from someone like you._ Akira could barely keep himself from slamming his head on the table. Repeatedly. (Makoto sent him a pained look, which he appreciated)

In short, Ryuji liked girls. He liked them a lot. And no matter how many times he said something that made Akira’s heart twist in his chest, Ryuji had made it clear that he didn’t swing both ways like Akira did.

“Yeah, he probably wouldn’t have taken it well,” Morgana hums in agreement, “So what was your plan B?”

“You know that girl I play shogi with sometimes? Hifumi? She’s a classmate of Yusuke’s. I was going to ask her, but now I’m glad I don’t have to. I’m pretty sure she likes me and that could’ve gotten awkward.”

“Well, won’t it get awkward with Ryuji? Isn’t it basically the same thing?” Morgana asks. He sounds concerned and for once there’s no bite in his voice. Usually Morgana copped an attitude whenever Ryuji came up in conversation, saying Akira could do better than “that idiot,” but every now and then Morgana swallowed his pride in respect for Akira.

Akira chuckles. “You mean you don’t think I can make him fall for me? You haven’t noticed I’ve been _exponentially_ more charming after all the time I spend in the bathhouse?” He winks back Morgana, who simply scowls.

“Akira…” Morgana warns. Akira reaches up and pets him gently, scratching just below the ear like he likes until he gets that familiar purr. He’s thankful for Morgana looking out for him, he really is, but this is actually going to be _far_ from painful. Akira had plans, you see. Terrific, wicked plans. If Ryuji was going to walk that line, Akira was going to milk it for all it was worth. What did he have to lose?

Besides, of course, Ryuji’s friendship.

He could lose that.

 

* * *

 

**Angery Boy has created Prom Sucks**

**Angery Boy has changed their name to help**

**Princess Bubblegum and Madam President have been added to Prom Sucks**

 

 **help:** help

 **Princess Bubblegum:** ryuji? Is that you?

 **help:** this is a friggin nightmare

 **help:** lets talk about the fact i have to ask freakin akira to goddamn prom

 **help:** the internet is not helpful

 **Princess Bubblegum:** aw you’re looking it up on the internet???? How cute! *:)

 **help:** when did we go from like, homemade posters to freakin horses n shit?!

 **help:** how did i get myself into this situation guys

 **help:** how do i get out of it

 **Princess Bubblegum:** relax, Ryuji. It’s just for fun! You don’t have to stress out about it

 **help:** i kno that! geez

 **help:** but i wanna make it good yknow?

 **help:** the dude is freakin abandoning his crush just so my dumbass can go

 **help:** i owe it to him

 **Princess Bubblegum:** aww :3

 **help:** shut it

 **Madam President:** Well, what have you found online?

 **help:** a lot of horseshit

 **help:** pun intended

 **help:** i dunno if im cut out for this

 **Madam President:** Is that why you made this group?

 **help:** as resident romantics i figured you could help

 **help:** not that i need romantic ideas obviously. just ideas in general pls

 **Madam President:** Oh, well, I don’t know that I’m romantic. That’s normally Haru’s area of expertise. Hold on.

 **Madam President has added Pomona Sprout to Prom Sucks**  

 **Pomona Sprout:** Prom doesn’t suck! Prom is wonderful! A night of wonderful memories with friends! Who made this chat??? >:(

 **Madam President:** We’re here to help Ryuji, Haru! He’s having trouble figuring out how he’s going to ask Akira to prom, and you’re far more romantic than I am.

 **Pomona Sprout:** Oh! I’m so sorry ryuji! I didn’t realize you were having trouble! Please, ignore my other text :( I meant no harm!

 **help:** lol it’s fine

 **help:** i just cant think of ways to ask akira to prom

 **help:** the dude is an iguana

 **Princess Bubblegum:**...a what?

 **help:** an iguana. yknow like somethin you cant figure out

 **Princess Bubblegum:** …...

 **Pomona Sprout:** Ann, please don’t...

 **help:** what

 **Princess Bubblegum:** ….

 **Madam President:** Ryuji, I don’t think that’s the word you mean

 **help:** you sure?

 **Princess Bubblegum:**...

 **Princess Bubblegum:** IGUANA

* * *

 

**Princess Bubblegum has entered You’re Either Shujin or Shujout I Don’t Make The Rules**

 

 **Princess Bubblegum:** hey Akira you’re an iguana

 **Pomona Sprout:** Ann!

 **Meme Lord:** sup losers

 **Meme Lord:** hold on I’m gonna set out a plate of crickets

 **Meme Lord:** standby

* * *

**Prom Sucks**

**help:** ann can you just tell me what i did wrong lol

 **Madam President:** I think you meant enigma, not iguana

 **help:** ohhhhhhhh

 **help:** lol my b. same thing tho right?

 **Princess Bubblegum:** IGUANA = LIZARD. i’m sorry Ryuji I couldn’t help myself :)

 **Madam President:** An enigma is something that is difficult to understand, Ryuji.

 **help:** close enough dude. i dont understand lizards either

 **Pomona Sprout:** Haha! ryuji, you’re always so funny :) Back to the task at hand, though! How much research have you done?

 **help:** i just googled “promposal” and im deep into youtube

 **Pomona Sprout:** Hmmm...well do you want it to be romantic? Makoto said you needed some romantic advice :)

 **help:** hell no dude! im only doin this cause i got no other choice

 **help:** not that im mad or anything

 **help:** cause im not. there are worse things than askin ur best bro to prom lol

 **help:** its just...yknow

 **Madam President:** The pressure?

 **help:** yeah

 **help:** I only got a week to do this

 **Princess Bubblegum:** aww poor bby! don’t worry we’ll give you all the guidance you need. here, why don’t we do our own research? I pretty much knew how I was going to ask Shiho right from the start so let’s do our own thing and compare notes?

 **Madam President:** That’s a great idea! We all have different personalities so that should give you some options, Ryuji.

 **help:** thanks guys

 **Pomona Sprout:** In the meantime ryuji why don’t you take a break? There’s no need to feel so stressed! :) I’m sure akira isn’t expecting anything huge. He probably just wanted to mess with you :*

 **help:** yeah ok i can do that

 

Ryuji sets down his phone and looks back to the computer. Somehow he’s ended up on “Top Ten Worst Promposals” from what looks to be a channel made by a middle schooler, so probably not his best source material for this sort of thing. He rubs at his eyes with his fists and sighs. He’d been at this for an hour, at least, in the school library. He’d gone straight here after his last class, not bothering to wait for Akira outside of his classroom like he usually does. Akira would understand: he had shit to do now, after that whole fiasco at lunch.

He groans internally. Askin’ your best bro to prom shouldn’t be this hard. In fact, it _should_ be as easy as just simply askin’ like he already did, but _nooo_ apparently that wasn’t gonna cut it. Still, it sorta made sense. Akira wasn’t a simple dude like Ryuji; he liked a little flair, a little drama. Ryuji’d seen him get a question right in class once and the guy freakin’ did this “garsh” act that had Ryuji rollin’ his eyes all the way to Sunday.

If Ryuji had to prompose (and for real Ryuji was so freakin’ done with that word) to Akira he was gonna have to actually _try_ at this shit like a real date would do. Akira had already made it clear he wasn’t above sayin’ no, Ryuji’s embarrassment be damned, so Ryuji had to make sure this was good. If he’s bein’ honest with himself, though, he actually kinda _wants_ to make it good, just on principle. That buzz comes back whenever he thinks about asking Akira to prom: about Akira’s face, all lit up and happy, perhaps even impressed. Now that he’s already into this shit, he might as well make it good, right? For the all the shit Akira’s done for him, he could manage this, no matter how embarrassing it was. He _would_ manage this.

See, Akira had basically saved Ryuji when he transferred to Shujin last year. Shiho shared her intentions of transferring schools a couple weeks into the school year, so Ann and Shiho were making a point to spend every second of every day they had left together. Ryuji didn’t mind--he understood, he really did--but it meant he was basically back to bein’ on his own. Mishima would hang with him if they had a class together, but it’d be another few months before he came out of his shell and started hangin’ with them for real. Ryuji was effectively alone again, which was chill, he’d gotten used to it before, no skin off his back.

Meeting Akira though...holy shit. Akira came outta nowhere. They met in the rain in mid-October a year ago, Ryuji walkin’ by and talkin’ to himself like always, grumblin’ about forgetting his umbrella and the homework he didn’t do. He barely noticed the person who stepped out into the rain with him, like a taller, much more hesitant shadow. It wasn’t until he heard the soft splash of a puddle he made a point to avoid that he turned and saw the surprised, almost guilty look on Akira’s face. His eyes locked onto gray, and they probly should’ve matched everything else about that dreary morning, but damn if that gray didn’t shine like the moon or some shit. They seemed kind. Wise. Smart. All the things Ryuji knew he wasn’t.

Turns out all this kid needed was someone to follow to Shujin. He was a transfer, had gotten lost on his way, and was fully intending on just ghostin’ behind Ryuji until they made it to school. Ryuji remembers feeling proud, an odd sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in _months_ , as he lead the new kid to the school. Ryuji blabbed the whole way, of course, nervous energy runnin’ through him, but Akira never seemed put off or annoyed like most people got. He just hung his head in the rain, hair frizzing all over the place, and smiled back. Even when they got to the school and Ryuji made up a ridiculous excuse as to why they were late (a castle, Ryuji? _Really?_ ), Akira had played along, and when Ryuji had sheepishly asked for Akira not to ignore him come tomorrow (his mouth moved _so_ much faster than his brain), Akira said, “Not sure that’s possible.” Ryuji can still feel the little jump his stomach had at that.

These days, though, Ryuji did most of the following. And he was happy to, honestly, once he saw who Akira was and what he was capable of. Hell, he’d follow Akira to the ends of the earth if Akira asked. Akira had this...this...energy. Ryuji was drawn to Akira, drawn to him always. It’s why he couldn’t help but wait for him after school got out, why he texted him to hangout literally every weekend, why he almost ( _almost_ ) didn’t care that he was gonna have to ask him to freakin’ prom. Akira was a planet Ryuji felt lucky to orbit.

Ryuji sighs again and logs off the school computer. Haru was right, he needed to take a break. He’s thinkin’ too hard about this already and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. Ryuji made the right move enlisting the help of his girl friends though, he knows that for a fact. They’d already been through this and they were definitely more creative than Ryuji. WIth their help, they’d be able to tackle this thing.

 

On his walk home, Ryuji doesn’t realize he’s dialing Akira until the phone is up to his ear. There it goes again, that freakin’ pull to the guy.

“Hey prom date,” Akira answers with a smile. All the tension in Ryuji’s shoulders breaks at the sound of his voice. Akira was dramatic, cool, and incredible, but he was still _Akira._ Still the guy who would play videogames for hours with ‘im if Ryuji asked. Still the dork that always asked if Ryuji wanted him to “put love in it” when he made him an iced cocoa. Ryuji admired him for the ways that he could be both.

“Gimme a break!” Ryuji says, laughing, “You’re forgettin’ this wasn’t my idea.”

“Nah, I haven’t forgotten,” replies Akira, and Ryuji’s sure he’s just imagining the way his voice almost sounds sad. In a second Akira’s back to casual: “Have you figured out how you’re going to do it yet?”

“It’s been like, three hours!” Ryuji’s voice ups in pitch and Akira laughs on the other end.

“If you’d like, I have a couple suggestions,” he leads. Ryuji considers it for a moment; this _would_ be a helluva lot easier if Akira just told him what he wanted.

“Really? What are they?”

“First, three words: knight, shining, and armor.”

Ryuji has a flashback to video of the horse walking down the school hallways. “ _Next._ ”

Akira makes an annoyed sound. “Fine, I see I’m not getting my fairytale.”

“Dude, if this was a fairytale, _you’d_ be the friggin’ prince and _I’d_ be the goddamn princess. How many times have you saved my ass?”

“Careful, I just might change your name in my phone to Ryu-punzel now. Oh,” Akira starts, “Hey, that reminds me. Any idea why Ann texted the group calling me an iguana? Or why Futaba keeps trying to get me to eat ‘espresso bean crickets’?”

A blush rises on Ryuji’s cheeks, “Nah, man, no idea.” He’s not embarrassed about usin’ the wrong word--happens all the time--but he doesn’t want to tell Akira he’s gettin’ help. He wants Akira to think that whatever happens was his idea alone.

“Hm…” Ryuji can tell Akira doesn’t believe him, but he thankfully lets it go, “Alright then. Well, why’d you call?”

“Huh?” Ryuji asks, turning down a dark alley for a shortcut through the block. It’s still light enough out that the darkness isn’t darkness so much as shadows and it’s early enough that Ryuji doesn’t have to be wary of what neighborhood he’s in.

“You called me, remember?”

“Oh!” the blush gets hotter, “R-right. Yeah. Uh...I dunno really, honestly I didn’t even know I was doin’ it until you answered. Guess I just can’t stay away from ya, huh?” Ryuji smiles.  

There’s a brief pause before Akira replies, long enough that for a second Ryuji thinks he’s said something wrong (what he said wrong, he doesn’t know, but it sure feels that way when Akira keeps silent). But then Akira’s laughing again, makin’ a dumb comment about how charmin’ he is and how natural it is for Ryuji to feel that way. Ryuji threatens to sock him through the phone and his laugh continues and damn if this isn’t the easiest goddamn thing, if everything with Akira isn’t the easiest thing in the world.

After the conversation turns to video games and they discuss strategies for the next level of the game they’re playing, Akira hums thoughtfully.

“I think Sojiro is calling me down for dinner,” he says. It happens to be perfect timing: Ryuji’s just now walking up to the light blue front door of his apartment complex, the paint chipped and the wood somewhat rotted. Inside he knows he won’t find his mom; on Fridays she worked late, going from her waitressing job to her bartending one. Inside he’ll find ingredients for a dinner she’s set out for him, always thinking of him before herself. Inside he’ll find silence, solitude, and what will seem like an endless stretch of hours to entertain himself.

“Yeah,” Ryuji says, pinning the phone between his shoulder and ear, fishing his keys out from his pocket, “Yeah I should prolly go too.”

A long pause. Ryuji doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t really feel like hangin’ up. Ryuji can hear the soft, even sound of Akira’s breathing. Maybe he doesn’t want to either?

“Can’t wait to see what you come up with, prom date.” Ryuji can hear the smirk that must be on Akira’s face.

“If you keep callin’ me that, maybe I won’t even ask you!” Ryuji threatens, but there’s no malice.

“Yeah, okay,” Akira snorts, “Talk to you tomorrow then?”

Tomorrow is Saturday. Ryuji would like to contend that they don’t talk everyday, but they do, so he can’t.

He sticks the key in the lock and turns, pushing the door open with his shoulder. “Alright man,” he says.

“Bye Ryu-punzel,” Akira sings, hanging up before Ryuji can let out the protest that bubbles from his stomach. He blanches, pulling the phone from his ear and looking at the darkened screen. What the hell? Akira was a weird dude, that much was obvious, but that was…did he just _sing?_

He steps into the apartment, a small two bedroom place where he’s lived all his life. He could tell you about the cracks in the bathroom floor, the ones he used to trace like they were constellations. He could tell you about the dents in the wall, from where his body thudded, or an errant fist landed, when his dad still lived here. He could tell you about the window above the kitchen sink, how determined his mom was to keep that particular window clean, so that when the sun shone in in the morning the entire place lit up. When he was younger she told him that as long as they had each other they had all the sunshine they needed. The window was proof.

It’s later now, so the sun is on the other side of the apartment, but daylight still streams in. The apartment is quiet, as expected, and a little cluttered. Ryuji’s backpack slides off of his shoulder next to the front door, where it will remain all evening, despite the fact he definitely has homework. He kicks his shoes off in a random direction (his mother will likely trip over one of them when she gets home) and pads into the kitchen. The ingredients for beef bowl soup lay out, mostly prepared, he just has to put them all together. His stomach growls in anticipation, but for now he grabs an apple off the counter (also set out by his mom) and goes to his room.

Ryuji’s room seems like a mess to the untrained eye, but really everything has a place. His dresser drawers can’t fully close due to the clothes hanging out of them, but the clothes hanging out are ones that he wears often, so really it’s just a time saver. His desk has open mangas, stray papers, and a school textbook lying on it for quick and easy reading. In the middle sits his laptop, a hand-me-down from a neighbor that he was just gonna toss. Ryuji got Futaba to hack it with improvements so now, despite its old appearance, it works as good if not better than a new one. Every time he looks at it, Ryuji feels a wave of warmth towards his friends wash over him.

His bed is pressed up against the corner of his room; if it wasn’t, he’d have two sides to fall off of, and with how much he moves in his sleep he’d be on the floor every night. His nightstand sits on the other side of the bed: a lamp, a tissue box, and some lotion (for, uh, moisturizing). His bedspread is old, he’s had it since he was ten, but he can’t deny he still finds the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to be badass, so he hasn’t bothered changin’ ‘em. The only time it got annoying was when it was cold and the comforter didn’t fit his long legs anymore, but that only happened in the winter.

There are things hidden under a tossed sweatshirt, a lobbed t-shirt, or a discarded jacket. His desk chair, for one. The floor lamp in the other corner. His bookshelf, where his mangas are supposed to go, but never seem to stay there. On the wall furthest from his bed is a shelf, a forgotten shelf, that’s been dusty for some time now. It used to be a bit of a nook area, with the floor lamp there instead of near the desk and the chair that sits in the family room.

Golden trophies now look brassy, plaques Ryuji used to read every morning as motivation now mostly obscured by darkness. A few medals hang on a hook, but they too seem to be intentionally forgotten, hanging limp when they once shone in the bright light. There are a couple pictures on that shelf, of a lot of people, but those are already too old to be remembered. Ryuji barely notices the shelf exists these days.

The rest of his walls, though, are littered with posters: of games, movies, bands, you name it. Little polaroid photographs Ann’s always taking of him, the days when it was just them two and Shiho, a couple long-range ones of Akira and Ryuji (“Were you stalkin’ us?!” “No of course not! But I’ve never seen you smile like that!”), and then ever increasing numbers of bodies in the photos. He didn’t think he was one for sappy shit like that--actually still doesn’t--but he can’t deny that seein’ his friends at the start and end of his day make all of the bad days feel a little better. It makes the forgotten shelf in his room feel less like a heavy reminder of regret and more like “that was then, this is now.”

He sits at his desk and pulls open the laptop, the screen illuminating his face is sharp blue light. It whirs to life (this part, unfortunately, Futaba could not fix) and Ryuji takes another bite of his apple while he wats, the crunch nearly echoing. Yes, silence and solitude awaited him, and sometimes it felt suffocating. Sometimes he wished he actually _did_ have a sibling just so he didn’t have to hear himself think so loud all the damn time.

But sometimes, sometimes he’s just finished talkin’ to Akira, and the comfort that brings him lasts well into the evening. Sometimes Makoto is texting him that she’s completed her research and compiled a Google Sheet with multiple tabs for organization and would he like for her to email it? Sometimes Ann is just sending Cosmo link after Cosmo link while Haru is apparently knee-deep in teenage romcoms for inspiration. Sometimes he’s alone without actually being alone at all.

Ryuji takes a deep breath and opens Google, typing “how to ask your bro to prom.” Eh, he’d had enough of a break. It was time to nail this shit down.

* * *

 

**You’re Either Shujin or Shujout I Don’t Make the Rules**

  
**Meme Lord:** HE ATE THE CRICKETS #CONFIRMED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Futaba is Meme Lord obviously  
> Ann is that sweet as candy friend to everyone except ryuji. to ryuji she is that older sister that just won't let u live
> 
> I know effectively nothing happened in this chapter lol but I like to think of it as Chapter 1B bc I feel like I didn't really get a chance to flush out the intro in the previous chapter
> 
> TMTMATT is updating soon too btw :)


	3. Might As Well Call Akira a Lumberjack Because That Boy Is /Pining/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira accompanies Ryuji to the gym and Ryuji doesn't stress so much about promposals. It's a good weekend.
> 
> feat. a frantic Yusuke and a not-so-subtle bisexual tank top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What??? I'm alive?????  
> YES. I will never abandon my boy, or my fics. It will just take...a long time to finish lmao
> 
> thanks for your patience, if anyone still reads this <3
> 
> \--unbeta'd as always, sorry for any mistakes!--

When daylight seeps in through the blinds in his room, Akira stirs in his bed. He wakes slowly, almost gently, feet sliding through the soft sheets until they bump into what has to be Morgana. He keeps his eyes closed, stretching his arms above his head, hearing joints pop quietly. He rolls onto his side and takes a deep breath, thankful for weekends and lazy mornings without Morgana pawing at his face to get ready for school. Akira is content to do this gradually, content to move through his day like syrup dripping out of the bottle. Time has a tendency to rush, he knows, so he takes the extra seconds where he can. After all, he wasn’t supposed to make permanent roots in this city. In the back of his mind that truth always sits: he will have to go home. 

When Akira transferred here, he was hoping for a new start. He’d been wrongly accused of physical assault in his hometown and no matter how many times he attempted to prove his innocence, he couldn’t convince the court--nor, for that matter, his own damn parents. When it came down to it, he either had to be shipped off to live in the city for “anger management rehab” or his parents had to pay off the man who sued. They definitely didn’t have that kind of money, so it didn’t surprise him when they chose the rehab, but Akira got the feeling his parents were a little eager to send him away. He’d tarnished their carefully constructed image of A Perfect Family, complete with a picket fence and immense pressures and expectations he could never seem to live up to. All the same, the victim he’d been protecting when he was falsely accused was safe, and he would take the fall if it meant she would be okay. He tried to leave his anger and resentment on the train’s platform and looked forward to a new beginning.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get that at first. Sojiro, his new guardian, was rough and abrasive at first--it’s almost hard to remember it, Akira thinks, as he inhales the early-morning scent of coffee being brewed for his breakfast. Akira suspected it came from a good place, thinking that tough love was the way to make a ticking time bomb behave, but Akira _hadn’t_ actually committed assault and thus _wasn’t_ likely to fly off the handle. When he toured the school the day before he was to attend, the whispers were hard to ignore; his record--and thus his reputation--had arrived before he did, and he watched his chance for a new beginning disappear like mist in the morning. The bitterness returned, seeping into his veins and burning him from the inside. He resolved then to not fight the rumors (not that he could have anyway, the way rumors spread in high school), told himself he’d just be whatever they wanted him to be. He’d dealt with enough high school drama back home; maybe here he would just be the local delinquent, the quiet loner apt to punch you in the face if you crossed him. Akira resigned himself to finishing out high school in solitude, then return home a “changed” man. He was a bitter storm of anger and resentment, could feel the darkness swirling around the edges of his heart.

 

It was a good thing he met Ryuji.

 

Because Ryuji was the goddamn sun.

 

He just _shone._ Always. Even on the morning they met Ryuji was shining, though it was raining, the city glowing oddly in the early morning haze; Ryuji walked past Akira (who’d gotten lost like a typical country boy in the city) and the sun broke out from the clouds. Akira had been feeling the dullness of the morning, like the gray smudge left behind after an eraser. All the streets in the city looked the damn same and he was seriously considering just hopping a train and leaving for good if he was going to be late. He’d been warned multiple times that if he stepped out of line he’d be expelled immediately and sent to jail which, you know, he wanted to avoid, and being late was not exactly “in line” behavior. What was the harm in just disappearing forever?

He stepped out into the rain, not caring he’d forgotten an umbrella, and was about to turn back to the station when a flash of yellow caught his eye and then _mmph_ \--something solid had thudded into his chest. There was a momentary scramble of limbs, an errant elbow Akira almost caught on his jaw, and then an overwhelming sense of warm and safety when he looked into two wide brown eyes. It was nothing like the movies: Ryuji had jumped back a moment after impact, so they were a few feet apart; Akira’s glasses were dotted with rain drops which obstructed his vision a bit, causing him to squint; the rain was cold, it was way too early in the morning to be anything besides grumpy; and both had scowls on their faces at first. No, nothing like romance, but maybe that’s what made it better.

 

_Ryuji._

 

God, if you told Akira a year ago he’d be secretly crushing, he’d have laughed in your face. And yet, here he was, that blonde idiot on his mind 24/7. Akira didn’t like what crushes could do to you, how they could create hope where it wasn’t, make little things seem like Big Deals. He’d been back and forth about a hundred thousand times regarding Ryuji: did he say that because he’s got a secret, potentially unknown crush on me, or is he just that oblivious? It was harder when both seemed equally plausible.

As his main confidant for all matters of the heart, Morgana wasn’t a ton of help. He placated Akira’s frustrations well enough, but he was unable to understand why _Ryuji_ of all of their friends, so Akira never really got that pep talk he was looking for. Instead he got half-hearted grunts and then “therapy payment” demands of tuna--but, it was still better than nothing, so Akira took it.

He had, at one point, considered talking to his other friends about it. Of anyone Akira felt Haru would be the best option, as she was by far the most understanding person in their group and the most gentle, but she and Ryuji had a very close friendship and he was worried Haru would let something slip. He could talk to Ann about most things, but Ann had a 0-to-100 personality, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for her level of...intensity. Makoto was off the table, not because she wouldn’t be good at this sort of thing, but her can-do attitude would put Akira under scrutiny. She’d want to analyze every interaction Akira had with Ryuji, and he did that well enough on his own, thank you very much. Futaba didn’t really like talking about crushes unless they were discussing her favorite pairing in the latest RPG game she bought (and Akira was happy to entertain that, really, because nothing was better than seeing her get so excited).

Yusuke was a great ear for your troubles, that was true, as he took your concerns very seriously. If you even hinted that you were hurt, his empathy would come out tenfold until you were practically convinced the situation hurt _him_ more than it hurt _you._ That said, Yusuke was also nearly obsessed with beauty and love, so Akira was worried about the potential for Yusuke’s hyperfocus on his own love life. Akira could see all too clearly Yusuke asking Ryuji to draw him and Akira in a lover’s pose and the imagined scenario was embarrassing enough.

No, Akira was doomed to live this unrequited love in secrecy, but that was fine. He would take this if it meant he could have Ryuji still.

Plus, that didn’t exactly stop him from _flirting_ with Ryuji, which was half the fun of a crush, so all things considered it could be worse. No matter how far Akira fell for Ryuji, he’d always be a smarmy, smug ass flirt, so at least he got his kicks.

“Is that...tuna, I smell?” a sleepy voice mumbles from the end of the bed. Akira lifts his head to peek at Morgana, whose eyes are still closed.

“You must still be half asleep,” Akira chuckles, “That’s coffee, not fish.”

“Mm,” Morgana hums, “Could’ve sworn…"

But, now that Morgana’s drawn Akira’s attention to the scent of coffee flowing up the stairs, Akira’s thoughts turn to breakfast. Still moving slowly, Akira pulls back the covers and swings his feet off the bed. When his feet hit the ground, he shivers: no matter what season, his floorboards seem to always be made of ice. He’ll be thankful for it when summer hits, but now--in early spring--it makes him wish again for a pair of slippers.

When he comes down the stairs and sees Sojiro in the half-kitchen, stirring a pot of what has to be his curry, it’s hard for Akira not to feel like this could be his life forever. He pauses there, taking in the glow of the morning sun through the cafe’s windows, the smell of the coffee, the sight of a plate and mug sitting out waiting for him, and the gentle hum of the TV Sojiro keeps on through the day.

He shifts his weight and a stair creaks, catching Sojiro’s attention.

“Akira?” he asks, “‘Bout time.”

“It’s not that late,” Akira defends, coming the rest of the way down. He glances at the clock at the back of the cafe: 8:52 am. Sojiro laughs to himself.

“Ah, to be a teenager again,” he says wistfully. Akira frowns, opening his mouth to argue that he’s probably the only one of his friends awake (except maybe Makoto), but shuts it when the smell of the curry finally hits his nose. His stomach grumbles eagerly.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Akira says instead. 

“Don’t mention it,” Sojiro shrugs. Affection wasn’t one of Sojiro’s stronger qualities and he had a difficult time expressing his fondness of Akira, but Akira felt the love in Sojiro’s gruff reply. He preferred to show it instead of say it, and the Saturday breakfasts he made for Akira were all the sign Akira needed.

Akira eats quietly, the cafe filled with nothing more than the sound of fork hitting plate and the news droning on quietly in the corner for the next forty-five minutes. On Saturdays it was hard to tell who would be coming into the shop; sometimes there were early risers, customers walking sleepily through the doors at 6:30 in the morning, but sometimes it was dead until 11. Akira preferred the dead mornings so that he could eat in his pajamas, enjoying his silent quality time with Sojiro instead of taking his plate upstairs to leave a chair for a customer. This was one of those mornings.

“Got any plans today?” Sojiro asks casually.

Akira rolls his head from one shoulder to the other. “Nothing yet, but I’m sure something will come up.” It was rare for him to go a day without seeing at least one of his friends. 

“Hm,” Sojiro grunts, “I half expected you to say that blonde kid was gonna come over. 

“Ryuji?” asks Akira, small smile on his face. Sojiro sometimes pretended not to know the names of his friends, attempting to seem aloof, but the gang was as fond of Sojiro as he was of them. Akira knew it secretly pleased him when they all hung out at Leblanc together, the sounds of their voices coloring the dining area in warm shades.

“Yeah, sure,” Sojiro waves off, “The rebel one. He can’t seem to stay away. I mean,” and here Sojiro laughs to himself again, “The kid came over on _Valentine’s Day._ ”

Akira wants to fight the smile that spreads across his face but he can’t. It’s true: Ryuji came over on Valentine’s Day. Akira had been helping Sojiro with the cafe, which is always a bit busier on the romantic holiday, when just before closing the bell had rung. The two had turned to see a contemplative-looking Ryuji, who lifted his hand in a silent wave, before asking if Akira wanted to sit down somewhere. Akira didn’t miss the look on Sojiro’s face as he excused himself and couldn’t stop the wild beating of his heart as he slid into the other side of a booth with Ryuji.

After complaining about not having girlfriends, Ryuji shoved a box of chocolates across the table towards Akira. He was refusing to meet Akira’s eyes, blushing furiously the entire time, and only blushed harder when Akira teased him about it being a confession. Ryuji swore it wasn’t--and Akira deep down knew it probably wasn’t--but the gesture replayed on a constant loop in Akira’s head for at least a month afterwards.

It was no wonder that all of the reasons why it wouldn’t happen weren’t enough to stop his heart from fluttering.

“That he did,” Akira says with a slow nod of his head. “He might come over, I’m not sure. I’m overdue for a hangout with Yusuke, actually. I don’t get to see him as often since he doesn’t go to Shujin.”

“The painter?”

Akira nods. “Yeah, that one.”

Sojiro rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I like that one. He’s a good kid.” He glances towards the painting Yusuke had kindly donated to the cafe. It’s one his late mother had done and likely was Yusuke’s most prized possession. Knowing this, the fact he had donated it to Leblanc touched Sojiro’s heart, and ever since Yusuke got coffee on the house.

“They all are,” Akira agrees, thinking over his friends’ good hearts.

As if on cue, his phone makes a soft ringing sound. Sojiro nods towards it, smile on his face.

“Must be one of ‘em now,” he says. 

Akira takes a slow sip of the coffee before him, eyes glancing down to the screen.

 

**You’re Either Shujin or Shujout I Don’t Make the Rules**

 

 **Yusuke:** I have a problem with this group name.

 

It takes little to no time for the phone to continue a steady stream of “pi”’s that gets Sojiro rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know how you can stand that noise.”

Akira continues sipping away and shrugs.

 

**You’re Either Shujin or Shujout I Don’t Make the Rules**

**Yusuke:** I have a problem with this group name.

 **Angery Boy:** is it cuz u don’t go to shujin? :P

 **Yusuke:** Precisely.

 **Pamona Sprout:** You know...that is a good point. Maybe we should change it to something that will make us all feel included? <3

 **Meme Lord:** but who would want to be included with you losers? (o¬‿¬o )...☆ﾐ(*x_x)

 **Princess Bubblegum:** hey! I resent that!

 **Angery Boy:** takes one to know one Futaba!

 **Meme Lord:** -__- nice comeback ryuji

 **Angery Boy:** thx!

 **Meme Lord:** THAT WAS SARCASM

 **Angery Boy:** ;)

 **Yusuke:** We are losing sight of the problem.

 

Akira sighs and picks up his phone, shaking his head with amusement.

 

**You’re Either Shujin or Shujout I Don’t Make the Rules**

**Wild Card:** Can’t

 **Yusuke:** And why not?  
**Wild Card:** I don’t make the rules

 **Angery Boy:** LOL

 **Princess Bubblegum:** classic Akira

 **Yusuke:** Futaba can you please send an appropriate face.

 **Meme Lord:** (*^‿^*)

 **Yusuke:** No.

 **Meme Lord:** (〃＾▽＾〃)

 **Yusuke:** No.

 **Meme Lord:** ٩(♡ε♡)۶

 **Yusuke:** Futaba, please.

 **Meme Lord:** >:)

 **Yusuke:** I take my request back.

 **Meme Lord:** ┐( ˘_˘ )┌

 

**Yusuke has changed the group name to Art Student Guild**

**Yusuke:** Doesn’t feel so good now, does it?

 

**Meme Lord has changed the group name to DEATH TO ALL MORTALS, LONG LIVE CTHULHU**

**Princess Bubblegum:** futaba, I sometimes worry about you

 

**Pamona Sprout has changed the group name to Best Friends :)**

**Angery Boy:** haru u kno I love ya but that’s gotta be the most boring name we’ve ever had

 **Pamona Sprout:** I’m just trying to be nice!

 

**Angery Boy has changed the group name to Supergang**

**Meme Lord has changed the group name to Supergangbang**

**Madam President:** Futaba!!!!

 **Meme Lord:** oh, there you are Makoto (*/ω＼)

 

**Madam President has changed the group name to Group Chat**

**Angery Boy:** yikes, i take back what i said before about haru’s name bein the most boring

 

Akira can’t help the laugh that bubbles up front his chest. Sojiro appraises him with a quirked eyebrow. 

“I don’t understand you kids these days,” he mumbles, half to Akira and half to himself. Their texts continue on like this for another ten minutes before Futaba submits Island of Misfit Toys and at that point everyone’s too tired to continue arguing, so it sticks for now.

Morgana pads down the stairs around 10:50, purring quietly. Akira wordlessly places his plate on the floor, giving Morgana what remains of his breakfast. Sojiro pretends not to notice. The customers start filing in soon after, though still a relatively low number. The nice thing about Leblanc is that its customers were mostly regulars, and that kind of loyalty meant something here in the city. Despite the fact that he wasn’t a very social guy, Sojiro made sure to treat his customers well, remember minute details they had shared with him over the days, weeks, months and years, and greet them by name. The coffee was good and the curry was great, but it was the atmosphere that kept people coming back.

Akira excuses himself from the dining area and heads back up the stairs to get his shower supplies, Morgana following closely behind. He really needed a shower today--he had, admittedly, skipped it the day before and there was no way his mess of hair was going to last another day without a good conditioning treatment. Besides, even if he wanted to skip the shower, Morgana wouldn’t let him leave the house without a couple jabs at the frizz. Already he could feel the cat gearing up to say something snarky about it, but thankfully Morgana was still too sleepy to start.

As he grabs his towel and shampoo, his feet stutter to a stop. There were customers downstairs and only one bathroom. What were the odds that Sojiro was going to let him occupy that for twenty minutes? (Akira liked his showers as long and as skin-scorching hot as possible)

Just as Akira runs a frustrated hand through his hair, his phone “pi”s again. He sighs heavily--what could the group want now? He walks over to where he’d tossed his phone onto the bed.

 

 **Ryupunzel:** hey man

 

“Who is it?” Morgana asks with a yawn.

“Ryuji,” Akira answers, fighting the smile.

Morgana rolls his eyes. “Do you still have his named saved as that princess thing?”

Akira nods, thumbs tapping away.

“At least there’s that,” mumbles Morgana.

 

 **Akira:** what’s up?

 **Ryupunzel:** nothin just bored

 **Ryupunzel:** was thinkin of going to the gym

 **Ryupunzel:** u down?

 **Akira:** Normally yeah, but i really should shower

 **Akira:** Morgana says my hair looks like it could only be cut by a weed wacker at this point

 **Ryupunzel:** lol

 **Ryupunzel:** ur hair always looks great tho

Akira sighs. He thought it was great that Ryuji was so emotionally expressive and didn’t give himself much of a filter. Ryuji had some masculinity issues, that was true, but one thing he never seemed to struggle with was being complimentary or affectionate towards his male friends. Akira remembers one time he told Yusuke he was too beautiful for his own good, or another time he hugged Mishima so hard he picked him up and spun him around. He didn’t know for sure, but he was willing to bet Ryuji’s mom had a big hand in that comfortability.

As great as it was though, it definitely made things...harder.

 

 **Akira:** it’s full of secrets

 **Ryupunzel:** wat?

 **Akira:** Haha nevermind, dumb joke about a chick flick Ann made me watch once.

 **Ryupunzel:** oh lol

 **Ryupunzel:** u should still come to the gym

 **Ryupunzel:** doubt u could look bad if u tried lol

 **Akira:** Oh so you like it when i’m dirty? ;)

 **Ryupunzel:** dude -__-

The benefit of going to the gym would be, of course, showers. Also Ryuji. In a tank top.

 

 **Akira:** is it arms or legs day?

 **Ryupunzel:** arms i think

 

 _And_ arms day? He had a definite weakness for Ryuji on arms day.

 

 **Akira:** fine

 **Akira:** But only cause you can’t resist my massive…….dirty…...thick….

 **Ryupunzel:** i s2g akira

 **Akira:** …..hair

 **Ryupunzel:** yeah yeah yeah

 **Ryupunzel:** just get ur ass to the gym

 **Ryupunzel:** we gotta do somethin’ about those noodle arms

 

“Hey!” Akira says out loud. He turns to Morgana, who is pawing half-heartedly at the string hanging off of the blinds in his window. 

“Do I have noodle arms?” he asks. Morgana turns, bored expression on his face, and studies Akira’s arms.

“Eh,” Morgana shrugs, “They’re not noodle arms. But you should maybe spend more time doing some pullups before bed.”

Akira frowns as he packs his gym bag.

 

* * *

 

 

A couple train stops away, Ryuji stands in front of his closet, hand on his chin.

“Hey Ma!” he calls out of his open bedroom door, knowing his voice will reach his mother in their small apartment. 

“Yes?” she calls back from the kitchen. 

“C’mere for a sec, I need some help.”

A few moments later she walks into his room, drying a mug with a kitchen towel. Despite her tired eyes, when she sees Ryuji she lights up; and he lights up for her. After all they’d been through together, after everything they’d suffered, sometimes it felt like their little two-person family was all they had. For a while, it genuinely was. Ryuji thought the absolute world of her, was entirely convinced she was the most beautiful woman to walk the earth, even when she was covered in food from her waitressing job or burping across the table because she loves carbonated drinks or falling asleep still in her uniform on the couch, drool pooling on the cushion near her cheek. No, not “even” then, but _especially_ then. In those moments he saw her determination to work hard for him, her carefree attitude to which he owed much of personality, her dedication to providing for their family. He hoped _so much_ that he could grow up to be like her.

“What’s up kiddo?” she asks, coming to stand beside him. She was taller than most women, standing a good six inches above five feet, but once Ryuji hit ninth grade he shot up like a weed. He could look down on her now, which amused him to no end.

“Well, pipsqueak,” he jokes, resting his elbow on her shoulder. She rolls her eyes and shoves him off with a small smile.

“Enough,” she says laughing, “I’m in the middle of washing dishes and I left the water running. What do you need?”

“Which tank do I wear today?” Ryuji waves his arm in grandeur fashion in front of his closet where his clothes hang. There aren’t a lot of clothes, but Ryuji doesn’t need a lot. 

“...You’re kidding,” she deadpans.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head, “Gotta look good for the ladies,” he winks, flexing his arm.

“...You’re kidding,” she repeats.

“Ma, c’mon, I’m actually serious!” he says, dropping the charade. “I don’t wanna look...I dunno, sloppy.”

“Since when have you cared about that? I think about ten of the eleven shirts in the laundry right now have food on them.”

Ryuji scratches the back of his neck, “I dunno, Mom, just do. Ain’t ya glad I’m puttin’ a little effort into it for once?”

His mom eyes him from the side. There’s a little bit of color creeping up his neck, a sign of blushing he got from her. She can tell he’s hiding something, but knowing her son, it’s probably nothing he’s even aware of. She loved him to death, but he could be...dense, sometimes, like his father was back when they first started dating, before things had soured. And it’s not that she didn’t believe that he wanted to look good, she was sure that he did, but she struggled to believe there were girls at the gym he was looking to impress. She’d gone with him once to the gym; he got too into the workout to even notice anyone else.

“You going alone?” she asks, fishing for information. It’s the only other thing she can think of.

“Oh,” Ryuji relaxes, shoulders dropping and all tension in his face leaving in an instant, “Nah. Akira’s comin’.”

 _There it is,_ his mother’s expression seems to say. She hums appreciatively. She hadn’t met this “Akira” yet, but she felt like she knew him. Inevitably he would come up in conversation no matter how long she had to speak with Ryuji, whether it was on one of her days off (like today) or even in the fifteen minutes she had when she came home to change between job shifts during the week. Ryuji seemed to light up when he spoke about Akira: he was fascinated with him, she could tell, and perhaps a bit in awe of him. According to Ryuji, there was nothing Akira couldn’t do. He spoke more fondly of him than he had anyone else. She was taking notice.

Ryuji’s mom had been worried about him when Ann moved. Ryuji wasn’t great at making friends, had always been a little too loud or too forward for the kids on the playground when he was younger, so it hurt to see him without friends again. His strongest quality was his loyalty, in her opinion, and without anyone to stand beside, he got restless. She wasn’t home very often and all that solitude wasn’t good for him; he’d start to bottle things up until he’d get upset and explode, saying things he didn’t really mean to people he cared about. So one day, when he came home talking about this mysterious new transfer kid he’d run into on the way to school, she crossed her fingers and prayed to any god that would hear her.

“Ah, your best friend, right? The one with the dark hair?”

“Mmmhmm!” Ryuji says happily, “Dude’s skinny as hell. Not as skinny as Yusuke, our other friend, but still skinny. We lift together every now ‘n then, whenever he’s got time. I’m tryin’ to get a little meat on his bones.”

“And you’re _sure_ you want my help _just_ so you don’t look sloppy?” She cocks a hip to the side and turns to her son, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah?” he takes a step towards the closet, reaching for a yellow tank, “What other reason would I have?”

His mom shrugs, walking with him, “No, no other reason,” she says innocently enough. “Just curious.”

She appraises the colorful line of shirts in front of her, thumbing through a few until she finds one of her favorites. It’s a light blue one, which compliments Ryuji’s bright blonde hair, with two thin stripes on the right side: one a light pink, and the other a light purple. She’d seen it in the store and bought it for him immediately, not really sure what about it said that Ryuji had to have it, but knowing that he did.

“This one,” she says, pulling it off the hanger.

“You think?” Ryuji asks. He takes it from her and holds it up, searching it for any missed stains. He doesn’t wear this one very often, preferring brighter, more neon colors, but there was something about this tank that he really liked. His mom said it had reminded her of him, though she couldn’t place why, and he felt the same way about it.

His mom nods. “That’s the one, kid.”

“Alright, you’re the boss,” Ryuji shrugs. He throws off the shirt he was wearing and pulls on the tank, its soft material gliding over his skin.

“Don’t you forget it,” his mom says with a wink, leaning to elbow him gently before walking out of his room to get back to the dishes. Once in the hallway, she pauses.

“Change those shorts into white ones though!” she calls over his shoulder, thinking over how poorly his yellow-green shorts would look with the tank.

“Got it!” Ryuji calls back, looking down at the two colors and grimacing. Yeah, definitely the right call. Thank god for mothers.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _How_ many reps?!”

“Twelve.”

“Of _decline flyes_?”

“Yep.”

“At thirty pounds each arm?!”

“Your rest time’s almost over, better get movin’.”

Ryuji gestures to the bench angled downwards. He holds the dumbbells in his hands, waiting for Akira to get settled before he hands them over. He glances at the clock: Akira’s got twenty seconds to get his ass into place. He can’t help smiling to himself though; it was rare for him to have a leg up on Akira, who seemed to be good at literally everything immediately. At the gym, though, Ryuji knew more and could do more. He won’t lie: he liked to show off a little. S’not often you could outdo their fearless leader.

Akira sighs and swings a leg over the bench, plopping down and then slowly leaning back. “Ryuji, you know I have to ask: are you trying to kill me?”

Ryuji laughs once, “Nah, just tryin’ to make sure you can carry me through the doorway at prom.” He leans over Akira and hands him the dumbbells.

“Ha,” Akira puffs out as the weight settles heavily in his palms, “Didn’t take you for the bridal carry type.”

Ryuji counts as Akira’s elbows drop, keeping an eye on his form. He crosses his arms across his chest, his biceps in view thanks to the tank top. Akira glances to the side, noticing the arms, and wills himself not to stare. _Focus._

“There’s a lot about me--don’t drop those elbows too low, dude, keep ‘em in line with your chest--that would surprise you.”

“Oh yeah?” Akira breathes, talking getting harder the more reps he does. On the next rep, his elbows drop and stay low. He grits his teeth.

“C’mon man, three more, you got it,” Ryuji encourages, moving from Akira’s side to behind his head. He leans forward and places his fingertips lightly on the back of Akira’s arms, just above the elbow, to help assist or bail if need be.He looks down into Akira’s face, at his mouth twisted in determination and eyes squeezed shut. Akira lets out a little grunt, and Ryuji immediately breaks into a soft laugh.

“That has to be the cutest noise you’ve ever made,” he says, pressing his fingers up on Akira’s elbow as the dumbbells rise in the air, “Don’t hurt yourself though, wouldn’t want you to pop a blood vessel. You good?”

 _How does he not realize what he’s saying?!_ “Yeah,” Akira lies through gritted teeth, elbows locking at the top, “How many more?”

“Two, dude, you got it, you got it.”

Once the set is finished, Akira sits up quickly, inhaling deeply. Ryuji wordlessly grabs the weights from him and moves over to the rack, placing them gently and picking up his own 45 lbs dumbbells. Akira’s catching up to him, Ryuji thinks, and fast. Must be doin’ something right.

“Name one thing I don’t know about you,” Akira challenges, returning to their previous conversation. He bends down for his water and takes a swig of it, hoping the rest time between exercises will give his heart a moment to slow down. When it’s Ryuji’s turn for a set, though, the odds are slim.

“Hm?” Ryuji says, half-listening. He’s more focused on the way Akira’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows, the slight movement somehow mesmerizing. He’s not even aware he’s staring until Akira lowers the bottle and interrupts his line of vision. He shakes his head lightly, brain urging him to focus.

“You said there’s a lot that would surprise me. I don’t buy it,” Akira smiles. “Who knows you better than me?”

Ryuji nods his head to the side, “You’d be surprised,” he says with a grunt, leaning back and bracing the weights on his shoulders. As he settles, he pushes his elbows out to the sides and begins his second set.

Akira crosses his arms. “You keep saying that, but here I am, unsurprised. Seems like just talk.”

“I never wear matching socks,” Ryuji says on an exhale. Akira glances down at Ryuji’s feet and sure enough: one’s black, the other’s white.

“You either wear shorts or roll your pants--hard not to notice. Next,” Akira waves his hand, feigning boredom.

“My guilty pleasure is pop music.”

“Did you forget the time I caught you dancing and singing to Ariana Grande? Next.”

Ryuji’s brow furrows, “Dude, are you even counting? I’ve gotta be close to twelve by now.”

“Eight,” Akira says, “Nice try though.”

Ryuji grunts on the next rep, mind searching for more random facts about himself that Akira probably wouldn’t know.

“I can tie a cherry stem in my mouth?” Ryuji tries. Akira coughs suddenly, something like he’s choking, and his face flushes. Ryuji’s brows are still pulled to the center of his forehead and he glances at Akira, half confused and half worried. It takes a second, but Akira finally stops sputtering. 

“I, uh...yeah, you’re right, I didn’t know that one,” he says, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He’s trying--really trying--not to think about that old saying about cherry stems and good kissers, but it’s hard. He has half a mind to say “oh, you know what they say about people who can do that,” but there’s a visual of Ryuji tying the stem in his mouth going through Akira’s head, of Ryuji’s pink tongue accidentally slipping out between his lips as he works the stem, and it’s honestly taking all of his self control to keep his focus on counting reps and not on what that visual is doing to him.

It’s funny, really, how quickly Ryuji can undo Akira. Akira prides himself on his composure, especially under pressure, but man. Something about Ryuji. He shines so bright it’s hard not to feel a little blinded by it all.

“Ha!” Ryuji breathes, dropping the weights to the floor with a loud thud. He sits up with a soft groan and cracks his neck--once on one side, once on the other--and then rolls his shoulders. “Knew I’d find somethin’,” he smiles.

Akira rolls his eyes, his cool facade quickly returning, “That barely counts. It’s more like a fun fact than a testament to how well I know you.”

“But it surprised you, didn’t it? Don’t lie, I saw your face!”

“Okay, okay,” Akira says, hands up surrender-style, “I _was_ surprised, but c’mon. At what point would I have learned that about you?”

Ryuji shrugs, his bottom lip pouting a little. “I dunno man,” he says, his tone suddenly sorrowful, a bit dramatic, “I just thought...y’know, as my best friend, yo-”

Immediately Akira realizes what Ryuji’s doing and he rolls his eyes again. Akira reaches out to punch Ryuji lightly on the shoulder before he can finish, and Ryuji half-heartedly attempts to move out of the way. He catches Akira’s hand at his wrist, grabbing it and pushing it away from his body as his face breaks into a wide grin. The pull of his wrist brings Akira stumbling towards Ryuji, where their bodies press against each other. When a light laugh escapes Ryuji’s mouth, Akira finds himself smiling and laughing along.

“Cut it out, vulgar boy,” Akira jokes, “You’re worse at acting than Ann.”

Ryuji’s brain seems to stutter on the fond nickname Akira’s given him, as it usually does when Akira pulls it out. Apparently when Akira moved to town and people saw him hanging around with Ryuji, he was warned about the “vulgar boy” with a “bad temper.” Akira started referring to Ryuji as such, only teasing and with much less bite than the people who spoke the rumors, to the point where Ryuji’s heart swelled instead of shrank when he heard it now. He’d even started calling Akira “delinquent” in response, though Futaba once said “crime boy” was a fair substitute.

“Alright,” Ryuji says, still giggling. He pushes lightly off Akira’s shoulder, turning his body towards the next machine. “Fine, you know me better than anyone. You win. Now c’mon, we got lat sweeps to do.”

 

* * *

 

Forty-five minutes later the boys are sprawled out on the mats in the stretching area, reaching for opposite sides of the wall.

“Stretchin’s pretty important,” Ryuji says, “We used to spend half the practice on stretching alone.”

Akira nods, then realizes Ryuji can’t see him, and hums in response. “I used to do gymnastics, so I know what that’s like.”

“For real?!” Ryuji gasps, pulling in both of his legs and rocking from side to side to loosen his back muscles. In the back of his mind there’s an odd tugging feeling at remembering that there are a lot of “used to”’s in Akira’s life, an entire lifetime lived before Ryuji even knew him, and it doesn’t make him _sad_ but it doesn’t feel nice either. Here he is, reaching hard for something Akira didn’t already know about him, and yet there is probably a shit ton of things Ryuji doesn’t know about Akira. He’s pretty tight-lipped about his past, his home, everything before the incident. Ryuji doesn’t wanna pry or make Akira feel awkward, so he’s never asked, but every now and then something will come out that reveals just a little bit more. And every time, this feeling rests uneasy in Ryuji, like he doesn’t want to think about life before he knew Akira, before Akira knew him.

Akira laughs once. “Now who doesn’t know who?!”

“You never told me that before!” Ryuji defends. His cheeks burn hot.

“I didn’t think I had to! What were you thinking when I did that backflip off the bleachers in gym a couple months ago?”

“I-I dunno! I wasn’t thinkin’ about where you learned to do that, that’s for sure!”

“Too stunned by how incredible I am?” Akira asks, smirking at Ryuji as they both sit up and stick their legs out in front of them.

“Shut up, dude,” Ryuji mumbles, his thoughts far away from this moment as his brain rakes over all the times he’s seen Akira in his physical prowess. There was that backflip, yes, but also that time he ran up the wall and flipped. There was the time he climbed the rope then descended by bending back and letting his legs slide him down slowly (thank god for track pants). Not to mention all the times they’ve stretched together before and Akira’s just completely bent in half--

Kind of like he is now, Ryuji realizes, looking over at his friend. Akira’s hands are wrapped around the base of his foot, his forehead practically pressed into his kneecap, as he stretches a hamstring. It never really dawned on Ryuji how...bendy...Akira was, at least not until this moment. Was there a shape Akira couldn’t get in? Suddenly his wiry body made a lot more sense, how he could be so strong and yet so skinny, so flexible and spry in comparison to Ryuji’s own heavy and solid frame. Ryuji knew he wasn’t a big dude, certainly no bodybuilder, but he was tough. Back when he was on the track team, they used to challenge each other on who could push Ryuji over. To this day no one had succeeded, but then again there hadn’t been many attempts in the past year.

Distantly Ryuji’s aware Akira is still talking, probably about his past in gymnastics, but he can’t find enough attention span to focus on the specific words. Instead he just watches Akira stretch, the way his joints seem to just give to however Akira pushes them, how effortless it all looks. How had he not noticed this before? Ryuji’s own hamstrings seemed to shout in protest and he stretches those muscles daily. Together the boys move in sync to a tabletop position.

“Ryuji?” Akira asks, looking under his left arm as he leans back to stretch his right tricep. It’s been a minute since Ryuji’s responded, which isn’t strictly speaking unusual for Ryuji--Akira knew he had attention problems sometimes--but Ryuji was normally pretty good at conversation.

“Hm?” Ryuji asks, attention clearly elsewhere. Akira notices the glaze over Ryuji’s eyes as they sweep over his own body. He’s watching him, that much is obvious, but his thoughts must be far away.

Akira won’t lie: maybe he turns his tailbone up towards the ceiling a bit more, and maybe his shift back into child’s pose is a bit exaggerated. Maybe Ryuji’s eyes follow the movement and linger longer than he probably means to.

“Forget how to do a child’s pose, man?” Akira asks innocently enough, though his eyes twinkle with mischief. The tone of his voice--higher pitched, that little twinge at the end of the sentence that indicates he’s teasing Ryuji--brings Ryuji back to the present. He blinks a few times, loosely aware he’s been blankly staring but positive he wasn’t like, _staring._

“Huh?” he asks, eyes moving from Akira’s backside-- _how did they end up there?_ \--to his face. “Oh, uh, no, just lost in thought.”

Akira bounces his butt on his heels, a sucker for Ryuji’s oblivious attention. “Mmmhmm,” he hums.

Ryuji’s face turns down, something like a frown but not exactly upset, and with another couple quick blinks he gets back into the stretches. By the time both boys are done stretching, it’s into the afternoon. Ryuji’s stomach growls the moment he stands up and he pats it appreciatively.

“Don’t worry, big guy,” he says, “I’ll feed ya.” He turns to Akira and nods his head toward the gym door, “You wanna get somethin’ to eat?”

Akira should say no. In checking his phone for the first time since meeting Ryuji here, he has texts from nearly all of his friends, all of them asking to see him privately. Yusuke in particular seems the most needy today, desperate for an “art muse,” and it’s hard not to sympathize when Yusuke is the only one going to a different school (minus Futaba, but her solitude is of choice). It really _has_ been a long time since he’s spent time alone with Yusuke.

“Yeah,” Akira hedges, “But I got to pass today.”

“Oh?” Ryuji begins walking towards the towards the exit as Akira taps something out on his phone, following diligently behind, “How come?”

“Yusuke,” Akira answers. “He’s in need of a muse.”

Ryuji snorts. “When isn’t he?”

Akira smiles, “A fair point, but I owe him a hangout. It’s been a while.”

“Guess I can’t hog ya, eh?” Ryuji chuckles. He holds the door open for Akira behind him and together they step out into the warm air. It had been chilly in the morning, as it so often is in the early hours of spring, but by afternoon the sun has had enough time to warm the air. Ryuji takes a deep breath, eyes closed and arms outstretched, enjoying the feel of the sunshine on his skin. The sweat glistens when the sunlight hits it, a light sheen that Akira can’t help but notice, and it’s almost as if Ryuji himself is shining right back at the sun. Akira wonders if maybe he should send _Ryuji_ over to Yusuke for his muse today--he’d be hard pressed to find anything better.

“Yeah, you’re already getting me as a prom date. Wouldn’t want another reason to make everyone jealous,” Akira says, winking in Ryuji’s direction. Ryuji peers at him from the side of his eyes, a bit distrustful and annoyed, but the corners of his mouth are upturned.

“Am I ever gonna live this down?”

Akira claps him on the back, leading them both towards the train station.

“Not a chance, buddy.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Akira arrives at Yusuke’s dorm, he’s a hurricane of stressed-out emotions.

“About time!” Yusuke says, throwing his arms into the air, apparently forgetting one of those arms holds a coffee cup. Liquid splatters onto the floor but Yusuke doesn’t notice. “I’ve been ruminating over ideas, nearly sick with _need!”_

Akira fights the smirk that always threatens to show itself when Yusuke is in a particularly dramatic mood. “Sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, “There was a delay with the trains.”

This, at least, is enough to calm Yusuke’s initial outburst. He sighs and runs a hand through his dark, nearly-blue hair. “It’s no matter,” he says, “Though I did just start brewing another cup of coffee.” Yusuke’s eyes glance towards the opening in the back of his dorm--the gateway to the kitchen--and if Akira knows anything about Yusuke, it’s that he would never say no to coffee.

“Need a hand?” Akira offers. He’d been the one to show Yusuke how to brew coffee in the first place, having been taught himself by Sojiro, and Yusuke was endlessly enthralled by it. Any time he visited the cafe he sought to learn something new, and the genuine appreciation he had for the different roasts, beans, and methods made him an easy favorite of Sojiro’s. Sometimes Akira wondered if Sojiro wished Yusuke was the one who lived above the cafe.

Instead of taking him up on it, Yusuke waves him off. “I know what I’m doing,” he says rather bluntly, “Too many hands in the kitchen and whatnot.”

Akira doesn’t take offense, watching Yusuke turn on his heel and head into the kitchen. Yusuke’s always been a bit blunt, matter-of-fact, in a way that was similar to Ryuji and yet also nothing like it. Neither boy had any bother for a verbal filter, but Ryuji was more boisterous in lieu of Yusuke’s own drama. As Yusuke disappears, Akira shrugs his jacket off and takes in Yusuke’s dorm.

It’s a bit cleaner than the last time he saw it, probably because he’s not visiting near the end of a semester when all of Yusuke’s major projects are due. He can hear slowed down versions of popular songs playing softly from a speaker he can’t see yet: a hybrid Haru had introduced Yusuke to after he mentioned classical music wasn’t doing it for him anymore. Haru herself preferred a...different genre when gardening (she said screamo helped calm her down?) but as the group’s music guru, she was happy to help her friends find the music that let them focus best.

He can smell the faint scent of a popcorn scented candle Ryuji had gifted to Yusuke around Christmas time. The group liked to tease Yusuke about his poor budgeting skills, always buying art supplies before necessities like food and soap, but Ryuji never joked about it as much as the others. One day Futaba was teasing Yusuke for never having a smoothie; the next, Ryuji skipped the gym to bring Yusuke one (along with a meal, as he was sure Yusuke hadn’t eaten, and he was correct). Akira wondered if it had anything to do with Ryuji’s own upbringing, coming from a low-income household, but Akira hadn’t asked. The candle was an idea Ryuji had after biology one day--apparently smell is a huge part of taste, so he thought he could get Yusuke food-scented candles of delicious things while Yusuke inevitably ate something like bland crackers. Yusuke had been immeasurably touched by this gesture and Akira remembers fondly the excitement on Ryuji’s face as he explained the purpose behind the gift.

It’s oddly touching for Akira to smell the candle now, his heart feeling full at the kindness of his friends, at the way they care for each other.

Akira ambles slowly through Yusuke’s dorm: it’s a nicely sized room, a single, and full of little touches that only Yusuke would have. Yusuke got in on a scholarship, and from the amenities in the dorm, Akira can tell they were eager to keep him as a student. His dorm boasts a full sized kitchen and a private bathroom, likely the envy of every student in Yusuke’s hall. His bookshelf is full of art books--naturally--but Akira notices a couple new titles since the last time he was here: mystery books, it seems, and a manga or two. He pulls one out and flips through it, recognizing the title from a conversation with Ryuji a while back. Must’ve been loaned to him.

On the top of the shelf are a collection of figurines and it doesn’t take a detective to know they’re from Futaba. Yusuke and Futaba enjoyed watching cartoons together, which was about the only time you could put them together and not hear them bickering like siblings. She liked to buy him figurines (Akira’d been corrected many times not to call them _dolls_ ) after each season of whatever show they were watching at the time. Akira reaches out and brushes a finger along the cool, blue plastic of what seems to be a mecha-lion. It’s a new one he doesn’t recognize.

Yusuke’s desk is a mess of art: sketches, papers, charcoal, pencils, paint splatters, references tacked on the wall above it. There’s an art book on anatomy open in the corner, smudges of graphite fingerprints along the sides of the page, and two mugs. Akira figures one is coffee, the other is paint water, and with a grimace he wonders how many times Yusuke’s drank from the wrong one. The sketches are, of course, immaculate. Yusuke’s proficiency and passion for art surpassed any of the group’s talents, Akira believed, including Futaba’s nearly inhuman hacking skills. His full ride at the school was a surprise to no one once they saw his books, his paintings, his use of colors.

On the back wall sits Yusuke’s couch, a side-of-the-street find from Makoto that she, Ryuji, and Akira had helped bring in. All in all it was a great couch--Akira had slept on it once or twice after feeling too tired to take the train home--and thus far they hadn’t found any reason for it to have been thrown out. Yusuke likened it to a blessing from angels; Ann just thought it was kind of gross.

The coffee table has more mugs on it...like, seven, Akira guesses at a glance. Yusuke was probably made up of 90% coffee and 10% paint water and apt to leave something immediately when inspiration struck. Half the mugs still have coffee in them and Akira wouldn’t be surprised if all of them are from today. Also on the table is the official prom invite Haru had given him, along with a picture of the dress she was going to wear in case he wanted to match. Next to the invite sits two plush lobsters, a joke gift the group had given to him over the summer when he discovered lobsters exist (apparently there weren’t a ton of animal science classes in art school). Yusuke was still a bit obsessed with the sea creatures; on his kitchen table sits an empty tank, the would-be home of a couple pet lobsters once he can find out where to get them from.

In a lot of ways, Yusuke’s dorm reminds Akira of his own room. Akira’s room was technically an attic for inventory storage, but Sojiro had converted it to a room when he came to stay. At the time it had been set up half-hearted and a bit begrudgingly, an old bed with a lumpy mattress thrown into the corner, boxes still around, a thick layer of dust over everything. Since then Sojiro has bought him a new mattress and box spring, but those first few months of sleep were a bit rough. Akira cleaned up the room himself, but it took a while to feel like home. It was bare, void of any personal touches, and Akira had no interest in making it cozy. It wasn’t until Ryuji had presented him with the bowl from the ramen place after their first outing as friends that Akira had placed something on a shelf and felt a bit warm. Gradually his friends had helped him decorate, just as they had Yusuke: there were star stickers from the planetarium he went to with Yusuke, a bright seat cushion from Makoto, a colorful wall hanging from Haru. Ann had gifted him a chocolate fountain at one point, but after a malfunction that resulted in a chocolate explosion, he only brought it out for special occasions.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, everyone’s rooms had little touches of their friendships scattered throughout it. They were all a little lonely before they met each other, all desperate for something that felt like home and family. Akira runs his fingers along the wall that leads to the kitchen, eyes looking over a painting of a fox Yusuke did a couple months ago, and smiles. There were pieces of each other inside all of them. There was never fully one without any of the others.

Yusuke clears his throat from the doorway where he’s been leaning, causing Akira to jump and come out of his thoughts. When he turns to the taller boy, Yusuke is smiling softly to himself, all panic from earlier gone. Coffee had a way of calming Yusuke down.

“You always did like that painting,” Yusuke says, gesturing to the piece with the mug in his hand. Akira shrugs and looks back up at it: the fox is white, a startling white, with a mischievous glint in its eye. The background to the painting are hues of blue: darker ones, lighter ones, all combined together in a sort of patchwork style. The fox itself is accented with a bright red, brighter than any Christmas red, which really grabs the eye. Akira can’t place what it is, but something about the painting reminds him of Yusuke.

After a brief moment of both boys appreciating the painting, Akira clasps his hands in front of him and turns to Yusuke.

“Where do you want me?”

“Right, right,” Yusuke says, shaking his head slightly, “The painting.” Yusuke takes a step back and appraises Akira first. His eyes move over Akira’s body slowly, and if it were anyone else it might feel weird, but with Yusuke Akira knows it’s strictly with an artist’s eye.

“First, we have to get you out of that shirt,” Yusuke says, gesturing to Akira’s worn white tee. Akira wrinkles his nose--yeah, probably should have packed an extra shirt after the gym, even if he hadn’t gone here to hang with Yusuke. He glances down and notices there’s a faint line of sweat creating a “V” on his chest.

“Anything else?”

“Well, there’s your hair,” Yusuke says, “You apparently haven’t showered recently.” Yusuke raises an eyebrow at him, eyes searching over the apparent rats nest atop Akira’s head.

Shit. He was supposed to do that at the gym. Akira rubs a hand over and down his neck.

“Oops?” he offers with an innocent smile. Yusuke’s face doesn’t change for a moment, eyes full of judgement but expression full of kindness, and then he sighs dramatically.

“I suppose we can make do with what we have,” he says, throwing his arm to the side with an exaggerated flourish. The motion causes the coffee to lurch inside the cup and drops spill over the side yet again, completely unnoticed by Yusuke, and this time Akira can’t fight the smile. 

“Okay, now, strip!” he commands. With a dutiful sigh and happy shake of his head, Akira begins removing clothes.

 

In moments, Yusuke has his easel set up, his stool in place, and paints laid out before him. The coffee table has been moved, a blanket pulled from Yusuke’s bedroom is draped over the couch, and his curtains have been taken down to lay where the blanket can’t reach. Akira’s in one of Yusuke’s turtlenecks--surprisingly soft and comfy, not in the least bit itchy--and a pair of Yusuke’s jeans. The jeans...don’t exactly fit. They’re a little long, a little tight, and he can’t really button or zip them, but Yusuke said it didn’t matter. He would “fill in the blanks.”

Akira’s body is carefully positioned, his head turned slightly towards the wall so he can focus on the fox painting. He’s got one leg up on the couch, elbow resting on his knee. The other arm is behind him, supporting his weight, his body language somewhere between unbothered and casually showing off. Yusuke restarts his playlist and closes his eyes, breathing deeply before dipping his brush into a dull purple.

 

* * *

 

**Prom Sucks**

**help:** so ive been thinkin

 **Pamona Sprout:** About?

 **help:** i dont know how well i actually know akira

 **Princess Bubblegum:** what do you mean?! You know him better than all of us!

 **help:** thats the thing tho! i dont think i do. i mean, i might, but that doesnt mean i know EVERYTHING. the article you sent me ann said i should get the person all their fav stuff but i dunno wat that even is for akira

 **help:** like i got him chocolate on valentines day and i dunno if he even ate it

 **Pamona Sprout:** You got him chocolate?

 **Princess Bubblegum:** CHOCOLATE? VALENTINES DAY? Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?

 **Pamona Sprout:** On valentines day?

 **help:** whoa no

 **help:** not like that

 **help:** the store was givin it out for free so i grabbed it on my way over

 **help:** jc u guys calm down

 **Pamona Sprout:** Well I think that’s really special ryuji :)

 **Princess Bubblegum:** and here you were saying you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body!

 **help:** i’m not tryin to be romantic!!!!!!!!

 **help:** i just need a goddamn ticket to prom lol

 **Madam President:** Sorry guys, I was on the phone with my sister. What makes you think you don’t know him that well?

 **help:** well for one idk what his life was like before he met us

 **Pamona Sprout:** None of us do, ryuji :/

 **Princess Bubblegum:** yeah, it’s not something he’s that open about

 **help:** but y not?

 **help:** if were his best friends, why wouldnt he tell us?

 **Madam President:** Maybe it’s something he’d rather leave in the past. Maybe he doesn’t like talking about it. Maybe he doesn’t even really think about it and that’s why he hasn’t said anything.

 **Madam President:** There’s a lot of conditionals here, Ryuji, that I don’t think is worth spending your time stressing about. You’re his best friend, we’re all his best friends; why does it matter what his life was like before us?

 **help:** bc its a whole freakin lifetime, makoto! a whole life with other friends in other places and he doesnt say one effin word about em ever?

 **Princess Bubblegum:** if you want to know so bad, why don’t you ask?

 **Madam President:** Is that worth it though? How will that help him ask Akira to prom? Maybe he should focus on finding out other things.

 **Pamona Sprout:** I’m with makoto. you guys are friends and will be friends forever! :) there’s plenty of time for that stuff! focus on making this a fun thing for everyone :)

 **help:** i dunno

Ryuji looks down at his phone, sitting before the lit computer screen boasting the best ways to ask someone to prom, and quickly backspaces his typed out message: “maybe were not that special after all.” He sighs deeply. He didn’t mean to overthink things _again,_ it was just--you know, he was gonna ask the dude to _prom._ This was supposed to be fun and memorable. What other things did Akira’s friends do that Akira was supposed to remember? What other grand gestures had they done, just for the fun of it, just for the memories? How easily had Akira left all of that behind? What effort was all of this worth if Ryuji was just gonna be some footnote in Akira’s goddamn book of life? Instead, he sends:

 

 **help:** i guess ur right

 

And closes the conversation for now. Too lost in his own thoughts, Ryuji turns the computer off for now and grabs a manga off his shelf.

 

* * *

 

“This is all wrong,” Yusuke says for the hundredth time.

“ _What,_ in god’s name, _”_ Akira says through gritted teeth, muscles aching in their carefully held positions, “is wrong now?”

“Your expression. You look...digestively challenged.”

“You haven’t let me move in over an hour!” he defends.

Yusuke tuts lightly, setting his brush into the paint mug (which, for the record, is identical to the coffee mug. Akira’s been staring at it for the hour waiting for Yusuke to screw up).

“It’s more than that,” he says with an air of authority, “This series is about passion and love. And you’ve got dead eyes.”

Akira chuckles lightly. “You got a pic of a Big Bang Burger on your phone? Show me that and my eyes will come alive,” he jokes.

Yusuke rolls his eyes, half serious but half playful, and stands from his stool. “I suppose we’ve earned a break.” He stretches his long, thin limbs to the side as Akira crumples his body into a weird mass on the couch, muscles already sore from the workout earlier thanking him as they relax.

There’s a soft ringing from the desk where Yusuke’s and Akira’s phones sit. Yusuke stops stretching and leans over, checking whose phone it is.

“Ah,” he says, lifting Akira’s, “you have a text.”

“From?”

“I, uh, I’m afraid I don’t know,” is all Yusuke says, turning and tossing the phone to Akira. It lands near Akira’s head--a little too close, actually, so Akira shoots Yusuke a look--and it takes a minute for Akira to untangle himself. By the time he’s sitting up and grabbing his phone, Yusuke’s got his mug in his hand and is taking a rather leisurely position in his desk chair.

When Akira looks down at his phone, he actually has a few alerts.

 **Ryupunzel:** im bored  
**Ryupunzel:** hows yusukes? still trashed like it was around finals? lol  
**Ryupunzel:** the manga im reading is soooooo good bro, u should check it out

 **Ryupunzel:** fun fact i just took a bite out of an unpeeled orange because i thought it was an apple

Suddenly, Akira’s startled by the sound of Yusuke literally spit-taking his current sip. They make immediate eye contact, both wearing bright smiles, and point excitedly to each other.

“That’s the face!” Yusuke says at the same time Akira shouts, “The paint water!”

There’s a brief pause.

“What?” they ask in unison.

“That face!” Yusuke says, continuing on immediately, “That’s the expression I was looking for!”

“You mean you didn’t drink the paint water?” Akira asks, skeptical, thoughts still razor-focused on the mug in Yusuke’s hand.

“What? No, I di-” Yusuke glances down at his cup and frowns, “Well. It didn’t _taste_ like paint water…” he trails, then mumbles more to himself, “How long have I been drinking out of _this_ one?”

“Wait, so you _have_ been drinking the paint water, but you didn’t notice it wasn’t coffee?”

“...I am a very focused artist,” Yusuke says carefully, then gestures to Akira, “But that’s beside the point! Your expression! That’s the one I need! Here, allow me to see,” Yusuke leans over the coffee table and reaches quickly for Akira’s phone. Akira, too stunned by the fact Yusuke could drink paint water _and not realize it,_ loses his phone.

“Let’s see,” Yusuke muses, thumbing over the screen, “Ah. Yes, this name I don’t know. Who is this?”

“Ryuji,” Akira says simply, though there’s a bit of color rising to his cheeks.

Yusuke cocks an eyebrow and looks over the phone at Akira. “And he was causing that expression?”

Akira shrugs. His body language is cool and he’s managed to fight the full on blush from showing, but as difficult a time as Yusuke has in understanding emotional cues, he’s wicked good at understanding strong emotional passions. Very little by way of love gets past Yusuke.

“His text made me laugh,” he shrugs again.

“Well, I think I have a solution to our problem,” Yusuke says, tapping the phone on his chin, “But where did I put those sketches?”

“What do you mean ‘our problem’?” Akira asks, sitting higher on the couch, “What are you going to do?”

“Hush,” Yusuke commands. He steps over to his desk and rummages a bit, flipping through a pile of papers, opening and then immediately closing a sketchbook while mumbling “ _Certainly_ not that one,” until finally it appears he finds the one he’s been looking for. It’s a thick book, one Akira wouldn’t be surprised to find completely filled with art but also _holy shit_ if it is. Yusuke thumbs through it a bit, eyes quickly scanning the pages. He stops about midway through and smiles to himself, clearly pleased, and begins ripping out pages.

“What are you doing?” Akira asks again. He feels invisible, lost in the background of Yusuke’s hyperfocus, and huffs. He sits back on the couch and crosses his arms, watching Yusuke carefully but silently.

Once Yusuke has a pretty pile of ripped pages sitting on his desk, he opens a drawer and takes out some tape. He begins tearing pieces and placing them atop the sketches, humming along to the music still playing in the background, obviously rather satisfied with himself. With that task done, he turns and begins to hang the sketches on the back of his easel: taping them first along the top, then once they hang there, along the legs.

When Akira sees them, he can no longer fight the blush that travels across his whole body. He goes to complain, to insist this isn’t necessary, but he stops himself. Yusuke, the incredible artist that he is, has captured this subject so _perfectly_ that the words die in Akira’s throat.

The sketches are, of course, of Ryuji. Ryuji staring into his lap, probably reading. Ryuji with a fist raised in the air, expression of triumph on his face, game controller in his other hand. Ryuji frowning, brows furrowed, staring directly off the page like he was looking Yusuke while he did the sketch. Ryuji dragging his hands down his face, stretching his skin in exasperation. Ryuji sleeping on the train, drool on his chin. Ryuji running in a track uniform, though the uniform doesn’t match Shujin’s--perhaps a scene of Yusuke’s imagination? Ryuji taking a bite out of an apple. God, why are there so many?

He catches Yusuke’s eye as he turns to hang another one.

“He’s so expressive,” Yusuke answers the unasked question, “In nearly every moment he is utterly readable, unashamed, open. He is...inspiring. I find it hard to resist,” he explains. “If not for Ryuji, I may have failed my human expressions class.”

Akira nods silently, still looking them over. They’re incredible, practically photos, each one immaculately detailed yet clearly done quickly. Akira thinks back to all the times he’s seen Yusuke sketching furiously during a group hang and wonders if it’s always just Ryuji, shining brightly from the page with that signature toothy grin.

“I have ones of all of you,” Yusuke says as if he’s reading Akira’s mind, “But Ryuji is a frequent subject. He is...difficult to miss in a crowd,” he says gently, smiling softly. Akira snorts in response.

“That’s putting it nicely,” Akira jokes. His eyes still travel over the pages, the seemingly endless amount of sketches, and he feels so awed--whether from Yusuke’s skill or his subject, he’s not sure, but his brain is certainly having trouble processing _multiple_ Ryuji’s at once.

“And rather beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Yusuke glances at Akira over his nose as he goes to sit in seat again. He wordlessly lifts his brush, watching Akira, and dips it into the paint mug (which, unfortunately, is actually the coffee mug). He begins to paint, quietly and slowly lest he disrupt the expression on Akira’s face.

“Why would I mind?” Akira’s voice sounds far away, like his mind is far away and answering only on autopilot. Did Yusuke really have to detail Ryuji’s mouth biting the apple _that_ well?

“I understand now the way you look at him,” Yusuke answers quietly, “I’ve drawn it before, but I didn’t make the connection. I did not consider it under this context--how foolish of me. An artist should consider it under _all_ contexts, of course, as Madarame once told me.” He seems to speak more to himself now, almost chastising, but Akira is still only half-listening.

“He looks at you too,” mentions Yusuke, slowly bringing up his other hand. On his fingers sticks a final sketch; he brings it around the easel slowly, almost like he’s a magician revealing Akira’s card, in traditional Yusuke fashion. Akira’s eyes follow and he can feel the sickness in his stomach, the nervousness in his veins, fully aware that he’s hiding _nothing_ at this point and feeling very naked for it. He almost hates the situation, would hate it if it didn’t also feel so safe. Yusuke understands; of course Yusuke understands. Yusuke’s passion is on a constant state of boil, his effort always bubbling over. Yusuke, the boy in love with love, would be the one to get it.

Akira shifts a bit uncomfortably at the realization that there’s nothing left defend himself with, not with these sketches and the warmth in his cheeks and the knowing tone of Yusuke’s voice. He was supposed to be the enigma, not the lovesick friend. Would Yusuke be able to keep this secret? Would Yusuke listen when Akira urged there was nothing else in Ryuji’s eyes? Could Yusuke keep from watching Akira’s every move?

These fears, the thoughts the run like trains through Akira’s mind, vanish when he sees the sketch. The final sketch is one of Ryuji with his chin in his hand, but his attention is rapt, like a snap in front of his face wouldn’t be enough to jarr him. His eyes are soft and sharp the same time, taking in whatever it is he’s looking at, and his expression looks as though he’s just sighed. Head cocked to the side, shoulders relaxed, eyelids half-lidden. There’s an easy smile on his face, his lips turned upwards slightly. He looks positively sick with fondness, like he’s soaked in it, absolutely drenched in adoration.

Yusuke is clearly satisfied with himself, which Akira would see from Yusuke’s smug expression if he could tear his eyes away from the sketch most prominent.

And for a moment, for brief, wonderful moment, Akira believes the sketch. Surely it’s something Yusuke’s dreamed up, not based on real life or anything, because Akira would’ve _definitely_ noticed if Ryuji looked at him like that. Surely this was just passion-practice for Yusuke, an assignment on affection, and not--not Ryuji looking at anyone. Or if he is, if this is real, of course he’s looking at Ann, who he’s always had a bit of a crush on regardless of her relationship status. Or his latest celeb crush. Or ramen.

But for that moment, for that minute that bleeds into two and then into ten, Akira gets lost in the idea that it’s _him._ The edges of the room blur in softness, Yusuke practically disappears himself, and it’s Ryuji sitting across the table at prom, dressed sharply in a tux, looking at Akira like he holds the ends of the world together. There’s a cheesy song playing, distantly Akira can hear Futaba and Yusuke bickering like siblings, and the punch was spiked just enough to get Akira talking like Ryuji normally does.

And, for now, that will be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work at a gym so I feel a kinship with Ryuji's gym-going ways and I may have ~flexed~ that a little too much this chapter lmao


	4. Desperate times call for desperately seeking out the douche detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: smart-ass Akechi  
> Exit: Akira's cool confidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would you believe i've had this written for months???? my dumb depressed ass just didn't have the energy to post???? it's v short but i just wanted to get it out so that I can start work on the next while i have the stamina
> 
> well here we go i hope i remember how to do this

Monday arrives without any further development in...well, anything really. Yusuke had gracefully said nothing more after his sketch session with Akira, just wordlessly gathered the pages of Ryuji and left them in a neat pile on his desk. Ryuji had spent some time debating a cake-themed promposal, attempting to enlist Haru, but abandoned it on the realization that he’d have to carry the thing somewhere and there was no way his clumsy ass would be able to do that. He was only steady when he was running, and with the injury, “steady” was being gracious. Morgana had stolen some tuna from the shop down the street, Futaba successfully hacked their security footage to upload the video to the internet, and Makoto took another ACT (the 34 she got wasn’t cutting it for her). Still, prom was a mere week away. Time could no longer be wasted.

 

Ryuji is walking through the halls, minding his own business, when someone nudges his shoulder.

"Word on the street is you're asking Akira to prom," a voice, higher pitched and full of pretentiousness, says. Ryuji scowls and doesn't bother looking to the side.

"Thought I smelled sulfur," he mumbles. The boy next to him laughs lightly.

"You ever going to give me a break? You could probably use my help, you know." 

"What are you even doing here? Don't you have classes to take at that snobby-ass school of yours?" Ryuji asks, sliding between two groups of girls chatting near their lockers. He loses the other boy for a moment, but then he's back at Ryuji's side and keeping pace.

"This  _ is  _ my class. Part of detective work is blending in with a crowd. I'm here for the week, actually," he says.

"Wonderful," Ryuji snaps, rolling his eyes. "Y'know, everyone knows who you are. I don't know how much  _ blending  _ you think is gonna happen, but it ain't gonna be much."

As if to prove the point, the group of girls they had just slid between begin to giggle, pointing and blushing at the two of them. Ryuji rolls his eyes again.

Okay, so it's not that he  _ hates  _ Akechi, he just...doesn't particularly  _ like  _ Akechi. Akechi didn't go to Shujin--thank god--but he was around enough that it kinda felt like he did. Even though they hadn't met until earlier that year, Ryuji knew who Akechi was long before Akechi knew who he was. Akechi was well known amongst the community, having gained fame at his detective school. He was top of his class, already working for the city despite not having graduated yet, and  _ somehow  _ girls were enamored with him (for reasons Ryuji never understood). Like, the dude needed a haircut. Bad.

Akira had met him first, a chance encounter at the coffee shop Akira lived above, and through casual chats over coffee they eventually became friends. In late fall Akira introduced the group to him and, while it took a bit of time, most of the group had warmed up to him. Despite his best efforts, though, Ryuji got along with Akechi about as well as mice do with cats. For Akira's sake, Ryuji tried to be nice to Akechi when the group was together. When it was just them, though, Ryuji's patience was little to non-existent.

"You should use my help," Akechi says again casually, "I  _ am  _ a detective."

" _ Student  _ detective," Ryuji corrects, "'N I don't need any help. It's not like it's for real anyway, s'just so I can get the extra ticket he has. A joke between friends--you’d get it if you had any."

"Is that so?" Akechi asks, voice even more coy than usual, "Hm. That's not the conclusion I would have come to..."

Ryuji snorts, "Maybe you're not that good at bein' a detective, then, cause I dunno what other reason I'd have for askin' a dude to prom."

They're nearing Ryuji's classroom now, and for once Ryuji's happy to be close to it. Akechi, despite being "undercover," would never be in the same class as Ryuji. Not only would it be a  _ huge  _ mistake by the administration to force them to spend any more time together, but this was Ryuji’s focus hour. Sometimes Ryuji has trouble focusing in the bigger classes, so they’ve given him one hour of the day to focus his attention--or, sometimes, to zone out so that he can focus later. The teacher could pay more attention to him 'n the other kids who struggled in class. Kinda like a guided study hall.

Akechi shrugs, picking up his pace until he's just a step or two in front of Ryuji. "I've seen the way you look at him," Akechi says, eyes twinkling, "That's all."

"Wha-?! Dude!" Ryuji stops in his tracks, creating further distance between him and Akechi now. If he could reach him, he prolly woulda socked him in the gut. What kinda nonsense...?! Looked at Akira  _ how?  _ He looked at Akira just like everyone else! There was nothin' special about it. 

He sees a hand wave him off in the sea of people, and with a huff he turns into his classroom.

 

* * *

For a class that's supposed to help him focus, he didn't do a very good job. Which is okay, but he's pretty sure he woulda been fine if it weren't for the comment Akechi made. What the hell did he mean? 

"What's gotten into you today?" Makoto asks, sliding next to him at lunch. Across the table sits Akechi, who is pointedly ignoring the scowl on Ryuji's face and the glare in his eyes. Instead Akechi looks cheerfully at Makoto; she smiles brightly back.

"He's upset," Akechi answers when Ryuji doesn't, "because I told him he looks at Akira in a  _ special  _ way."

"Don't we all?" Makoto laughs. She takes a bite of today's lunch--it's called "chicken fingers" but it's more like Styrofoam with breading. Probably recycled from the chicken sandwiches last Friday.

"I'm just making an observation," Akechi shrugs, "As a detective, I--"

"Oh here we go," Ann says, walking up to the table and dropping her tray onto it. She rolls her eyes, but there's no real irritation behind them, and she smiles down at Akechi. " _ As a detective,"  _ she mocks, imitating his voice nearly perfectly, " _ I'm just a superior human being."  _ She plops herself down next to him and nudges him with her shoulder.

Makoto hides a laugh behind her hand while Ryuji's scowl gets slightly less scowl-ish. Akechi pouts, crossing his arms across his chest. 

"I merely mean that I have a habit of taking notice of the small things," he defends.

"Small things?" Haru interjects, walking up and sitting down on the other side of Akechi. "Are we discussing Futaba?" Her sincere eyes look questioningly at each of her friends.

"No," Ann replies, poking at her lunch incredulously, "We're discussing Akechi's detective skills."

" _ Actually,"  _ Akechi says, "We're discussing Sakamoto's particularly fond looks towards Akira."

The expression on Ryuji's face goes back to full scowl. He rolls his eyes and pokes at the ham sandwich his mom packed for him.

"Oh," Haru says softly. She turns her head to look at Ryuji, who's refusing to meet anyone's eyes, and there's something about his pointed dissatisfaction that feels a bit like a confirmation. She pauses, but then she grins wide, "Don't we all?"

Makoto points at her across the table. "That's what I said! We’ve all been half in love with him at some point or another."

"Speaking of our fearless leader," Ann says, looking over her shoulder at the quickly-filling lunch room, "Where is that guy?"

"Meetin' with Kawakami," Ryuji says automatically, the words coming out of him fast. His friends take a moment to look at each other, surprised to hear him speak so suddenly, and it takes a minute for even Ryuji to realize he's said something.

"How do you know that?" Akechi asks, leaning forward, "You don't have any classes together until the afternoon."

Ann makes a face as Ryuji's face feels hot under Akechi's scrutinization against his better judgement. God, was it that weird to know where Akira was? He knew Yusuke was in his pottery class at this moment--did that mean he had a thing for  _ him?  _ Ryuji rolls his eyes.

"S'just a meeting with a teacher," Ryuji insists, "Not that big of a deal."

"No," Akechi agrees, shaking his head and sitting back in his seat. He looks insurmountably pleased, far more pleased than this small piece of information should call for. "Not a big deal. But  _ something,  _ perhaps."

Makoto's brows furrow, "I don't think it's that deep, Goro. We all know Ryuji and Akira are practically connected at the hip."

Ryuji's face feels  _ really  _ hot now. He thought she was on his side! "Makoto! C'mon!"

She looks at him innocently and shrugs, "I mean, wouldn’t you say he’s your best friend?"

Ryuji sits back a little and slumps in his seat. "I guess," he says quietly. He's not sure why admitting this feels...weird. A week ago he would've happily admitted to being Akira's best friend.Now, though, it feels...different.

Why was this getting to him so much? He sighs internally, that thought over the weekend popping up like a weed. He figures it out.  _ Maybe I’m not  _ his  _ best friend. Maybe we’re not that special after all.  _ Over and over it runs through, spinning out of control like his thoughts so often do, until he catches Haru’s eye. Her calm gaze washes over him. It’s not that deep. He's overthinking again.

Haru gracefully changes the subject to the lunch of the day. The group is willing to drop the topic, catching the weird vibe in the air, but Akechi still squints across the table, eyes steady on Ryuji's expressions.

Akira shows up about ten minutes later, sauntering across the lunch room like he's never hurried to anything in his life. His posture is relaxed, face unreadable, glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights. When he passes by tables most people stop speaking--not necessarily because they're in awe of him, though there's definitely an undercurrent of admiration, but mainly because everyone's afraid of him. These days he just pretends not to notice.

"Welcome," Makoto smiles at him, scooching over to make room. This creates a spot between her and Ryuji, and immediately Akechi smirks.

Akira nods his hello, looking quickly over everyone. When his eyes land on Akechi, he stops moving and his eyebrows raise. "Akechi," he says evenly, "Didn't expect to see you today."

"Undercover," Akechi answers simply. Akira snorts.

"You're one of the most famous student detectives in the city. Feels like maybe you should've been exempt from this assignment," Akira says, corners of his mouth twitching.

Ryuji excitedly points a finger at Akechi. "Ha!" he exclaims, "That's what I said earlier!"

"Well, should I remind  _ you  _ of what  _ I  _ said earlier?" Akechi counters. Ryuji balks, then huffs and sits again.

“Unnecessary roughness on the field,” Ann mutters.

Akira looks between the two quizzically. "What do you mean?" he asks Akechi.

"Nothing," Ann interjects quickly. The game was funny at first--now it feels cruel. "He was just late to the game teasing Ryuji about prom."

“Ah,” Akira says with a small smile, “Well, I propose we give the guy a break.”

“For real?” Ryuji asks, sitting upward.

“Of course,” Akira turns to him, smirk on his face, “I need you to focus on making this a  _ really good  _ promposal. I have high expectations. Wouldn’t want me to say no again, would you?”

Before Ryuji has a chance to respond, a filtered “Oh come on!” is heard from one side of the table. The two boys turn and see a phone propped up where a person should be, and a shockingly bright shade of orange showing on the screen. 

“Futaba?” Ryuji asks incredulously.

“Teasing him is so much fun though!” Futaba says emphatically, her face pressed into concern. This close to her webcam, her face has a fishbowl appearance. It makes her somehow look cuter.  “How else will we pass the time before prom arrives?!”

Ryuji looks at Makoto quizzically, recognizing her sleek phone case. It wasn’t unusual for Futaba to join them at lunch via video chat, but she usually only did it near the weekend when she had finished her schoolwork for the week--at Makoto’s request--and today was Monday. Attending an online school gave Futaba the freedom to finish her assignments as quickly as possible so she could spend the rest of her time gaming or practicing her hacking skills.

“She said she finished her project,” Makoto says with a shrug.

“And you believed her?” Akira asks, cocking his head to the side. Futaba’s evil giggle crackles through the speakers.

“Why wouldn’t she?!” Futaba asks with a sly smile. 

Ryuji squints at Makoto and points his fork in her direction. “You’re getting soft.”

The rest of lunch goes on similar to this: haphazard conversations, constant interruptions, side comments, teasing--the usual mess that is a group of seven teenagers having a conversation over lunch. At one point Haru belches so loud that the  _ entire lunchroom  _ turns to stare, but instead of feeling embarrassed she just flashes her beautiful smile and Makoto audibly sighs with affection. 

By the time lunch is over it seems that most everyone has forgotten the conversation that started it; that is, except for Ryuji and Akechi. Akechi keeps his eyes on Ryuji the whole time: the way he seems to be in constant physical contact with Akira in some way (a hand on the shoulder, a lean against him, a clap on the back), the way he looks at Akira even when someone else is talking, the little inside jokes they share. He makes mental note of these things, unsure whether he’ll use them to just tease Ryuji or as actual notes for the assignment. Either would suffice, really.

Ryuji, on the other hand, is playing Akechi’s words over and over in the back of his head. No, not those bullshit, dumbass comments, but the other ones: he’s a detective. Ryuji knew that, obviously, but something had dawned on him in the middle of Makoto’s incredibly detailed story about finding out her sister _might_ be a furry.

The group disperses after the lunch bell rings, save for Ryuji who hangs back, taking his time to pack up his lunch from home as Akechi gathers all his belongings. Akechi notices Ryuji’s stalling but doesn’t say anything--sometimes waiting through uncomfortable silences was the best ploy a detective had. 

“Akechi,” Ryuji finally says, his uneasiness getting the better of him. He definitely didn’t wanna ask this slimeball anything, but maybe Akechi  _ could  _ help him after all, and it was worth askin’, at least. 

“Can I help you, Sakamoto?” Akechi says, glancing up at Ryuji as he gently pulls out a notebook for his next class. He’s supposed to study “Adults in Charge” for the next hour, but he could probably write a book on that already. This--Ryuji’s shy body language, the way he’s hedging before he’s even started--is a better subject.

“I thought of somethin’ you could do,” Ryuji says a bit sheepishly, then reassess.  _ I’m not askin’ for  _ help.  _ I’m askin’ for info. Get a backbone, dude. _ Ryuji clears his throat, “Like you mentioned earlier.” 

“Enlighten me.”

“Bein’ a workin’ detective, you have access to like...information, right? Computers and databases?” Ryuji picks up his backpack and hikes it over his shoulder, looking quickly to the exit of the lunchroom to make sure the rest of the group is far from earshot.

Akechi smirks as the two begin walking away from the table. He could make a joke about Ryuji’s intelligence (or lack thereof), but he senses Ryuji’s discomfort. After what he put him through at lunch, Akechi feels an obligation to keep it (mostly) cordial. “That  _ is  _ in the job description.”

“Can it,” Ryuji says with a roll of his eyes, “I don’t need your sass. I need some information. O-on Akira.”

This admittedly intrigues Akechi enough to garner serious interest. Not that he’s going to let Ryuji know that yet. “Oh? What kind of information? His favorite flower, maybe?” 

“I swear to god, I  _ will  _ not hesitate to punch you,” Ryuji threatens. He doesn’t sound too serious, but Akechi knows he’s impulsive enough to try it, so he bites his tongue. “Not his effin’ favorite flower. I want information on his life before he go here.” 

Akechi rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I have wondered that myself, from time to time…but you don’t feel this is a breach of privacy? If he hasn’t told you, one might assume he doesn’t want you to know.”

Ryuji shrugs, the embarrassment seeping back into his thoughts, “I mean...I guess, if you looked at it that way. But I’m not askin’ for like, his deep dark secrets! Just where he came from, his family, his friends...y’know, the basics. Askin’ him doesn’t do shit and it’s...I dunno, don’tcha think it’s kinda weird he doesn’t talk about anyone from back then to us?”

“I assumed he preferred to leave it in the past. What would be the point in telling all your new friends about your old ones?”

Ryuji lets a breath out through his nose. It’s hard to hide his frustration and he can feel himself growing more irritated by Akechi with every passing second. Did he have to be such a know-it-all? 

“That’s not--that’s not what I’m sayin’. I’m just...look, I gotta do this stupid-ass thing and ask the dude to prom, right? ‘N I just wanna make sure it’s not like...I dunno, I just, we don’t even know the old friends’  _ names  _ and now I’m askin’ him to  _ prom  _ an’ I don’t...look, it’s...complicated, I’m not askin’ cause I  _ want  _ to but I still...ugh, you’re never gonna let me hear the end of it, but-”

And, finally, Akechi saves Ryuji from his hopeless floundering. “You want it to matter,” he finishes. His tone is suddenly sincere, completely void of his usual superiority complex, and it throws Ryuji off. The moment is inexplicably vulnerable, which makes him that much more uncomfortable.

“Y-yeah, I guess.” His skin feels prickly and hot again. To matter? Maybe. But more...memorable. He wants Akira to remember it.  _ Ain’t that what they call it anyway? A “night to remember”? _

There’s a brief moment where Ryuji thinks Akechi might say no, but finally he gives a single nod. “Okay,” he agrees, “I will see what I can find. Just the basics though, nothing intrusive-”

“Duh.”

“-and I’m not doing this as a  _ friend  _ because, as you have so clearly established, we aren’t. So you’ll need to pay my small compensation fee.”

The hallways are crowded enough that their conversation is private, but it’s possible that any one of their friends could be nearby, so Ryuji keeps his shout to a dull whisper.

“What?! Dude, I’m not effin’ payin’ you.”

“I’m not asking for  _ money.  _ I want you to sneak me into prom.”

“ _ What?!” _ Ryuji actually shouts this time, earning a few annoyed looks from the people closest to him. _ “ _ I’m already takin’ one dude. I’m not takin’  _ two. _ ”

“Not  _ take. _ Sneak. Open the back door. Distract the teachers. Anything will do, really. I’d do it myself but I have a reputation to uphold.”

“If it was that easy I woulda done it.”

Akechi snorts and glances at the clock, keeping an eye how much time they have before the tardy bell rings. “I doubt you even thought of it.”

Which, actually...Ryuji hadn’t. And it definitely would’ve be easier than this bullshit about asking Akira. Coulda just gotten Futaba to hack somethin’ for him and bam, he’s in, no ticket needed.  _ Shit.  _ Now it was  _ really  _ pissin’ him off how much Akechi liked to flaunt his effin’ intelligence.

“Don’t you have your own prom to go to?”

Akechi’s expression immediately turns bored as he waves a hand. “We have detective’s  _ ball  _ and it’s mostly a networking gig to help with getting jobs after graduation. Which, as you know, I already have. I’m not interested.”

“Why are you interested in ours, then?” asks Ryuji.

Akechi’s reply comes cooly and simply. “I imagine for the same reason you’re willing to ask Akira just to go: for the experience.”

Ryuji can’t really argue with him there, so he sighs and nods his head. “Fine, I’ll  _ try,  _ but no guarantees. ‘N here I was, lookin’ forward to an Akechi-free evening…” he trails.

At this moment Akechi picks up his pace again like he did earlier in the day, just a step or two in front of Ryuji, and turns. “That’s my price,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryuji waves him off, “Fine. Deal. Whatever.”

“And, don’t worry,” Akechi begins, now a good few feet in front of him again, and already Ryuji can hear whatever snide remark he’s going to say, “I’ll find out if he has feelings for you too.”

Not for the effin’ hundredth time, Ryuji wishes Akechi didn’t frickin’ run every time he said somethin’ he knew he he could get punched for. “Fuck you!” Ryuji calls.

“Someone will!” Akechi calls back.

 

* * *

**Akira:** Yusuke

**Yusuke:** Yes?

**Akira:** about this weekend...I’d appreciate it if we kept that between us

**Yusuke:** I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.

**Akira:** The whole Ryuji thing. I don’t want to hurt our friendship.

**Yusuke:** Isn’t he asking you to prom?

**Akira:** Well yeah but like, as a “prank” sorta

**Yusuke:** If your heart is at stake, I struggle to find the humor.

**Akira:** I mean, I sort of coerced him into it lol

**Akira:** I appreciate your concern Yus but it’s fine, I’m not worried

**Akira:** Unless he finds out about how I feel. I don’t think he’d take it well

**Yusuke:** I don’t understand your methods, but I respect your wishes. I won’t say a word.

**Akira:** thanks yusuke

 

* * *

 

**Yusuke:** Ryuji

**Ryuji:** what up

**Yusuke:** Would you like some help in asking Akira to prom? I know quite a lot about passions and love.

**Ryuji:** lmao its not about love dude

**Ryuji:** but i mean if you have an idea i’m all ears

 

* * *

Ryuji’s walking through a convenience store with Makoto, meandering through the aisles, hoping something will come to him. Haru and Ann were both busy thinking of their own ideas, but as much as Makoto liked to plan, she was also one for action. She thought maybe inspiration would strike if they just went for it.

“How about these?” She asks, popping into his aisle from the one next to it, holding a box of tea candles. “You could spell ‘prom’ in these?”

Ryuji makes a face. “A lil’ romantic, don’t you think? Besides, it’s been done.”

She shrugs in response. “Nothing wrong with a little sweetness, is there?”

“N-no,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “But that’s a little much.”

“Alright,” she sighs, walking back into her aisle. His aisle isn’t much better—honestly the tea candles are the best they’ve come up with in the past ten minutes. Granted he’s in the deodorant aisle so it’s not like he was expecting something besides divine intervention, but  _ man.  _ Not even a single thought!

“Has the internet provided any more help?” She calls.

“The problem with the internet is that it assumes I want to kiss Akira by the end of the night,” Ryuji says, “So everything is very...sappy.”

“There are worse things,” Makoto laughs. 

Ryuji chuckles. “Yeah, ‘suppose so,” he says, distracted by the shelf in front of him. He picks up a stick and for a brief moment wonders if it’s a scent Akira would enjoy.

“Oh, uh, Yusuke offered to help.”

“Yusuke?” Makoto asks, walking into Ryuji’s aisle now. “That’s interesting. I wonder what made him want to help.”

“You know how he is,” Ryuji walks towards her, sliding his thumbs under his backpack straps, “Can’t resist somethin’ with a little drama and flair.”

Makoto hums thoughtfully. “You know if you’re trying to stay away from the romantic Yusuke is probably the worst person to ask, right?”

Ryuji shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he loves love, but he’s not...like, y’know. He gets that this isn’t normal.”

“But ‘intense’ is his middle name,” Makoto laughs.

“I’m just sayin’! At this point I need all the help I can get.”

She laughs again. “Well, if the actual promposal isn’t memorable enough, the night of sure will be. Can’t believe we’re going to be spending the  _ whole _ night together. Can you imagine us all under one roof? I don’t know how we’ll survive.”

Ryuji nearly chokes on his own spit, “Spending the night?!” This is the first he’s heard of this. So not only does he gotta worry about asking Akira to  _ prom,  _ but he’s gotta worry about  _ afterwards  _ too?!

It’s Makoto’s turn to blush, realizing where Ryuji’s thoughts are headed. “I mean, we’ve got a um, sleepover planned at Haru’s,” she tucks her hair behind her ear, “I forgot you were apparently spacing out when we discussed this.”

Ryuji fiddles with a strap for a second, thinking over the implications of this.

“Obviously, though,” Makoto continues quickly, “Not, um, everyone will...um, not everyone will be sharing a bed. Yusuke for one, of course, but then there’s also Futaba. Haru’s house has enough rooms for everyone to get their own, if you wanted.”

Ryuji thinks back to how Akira had planned to ask someone and his stomach flips. He’s filled with even more regret—that Akira can’t ask that girl now, that he’s basically keepin’ his best friend from the girl of his dreams. Some wingman he turned out to be, all because his stupid-ass forgot it was prom.

“Do you know who Akira planned to ask?” He asks suddenly.

Makoto thinks it over, walking toward the exit with Ryuji in tow. Obviously this store wasn’t going to be the place of inspiration, so they might as well not waste any more time. Besides, it was getting later in the afternoon, and she had to make dinner for her and her sister.

“I don’t,” she says finally, and Ryuji lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Akira doesn’t talk girls with me much. I know that he has a couple friends outside of school, though, like a girl who goes to school with Yusuke and some pre-med student who lives in the same neighborhood. Futaba said she saw them hanging out once.”

Ryuji feels sick again. How did Akira have all these connections he knew nothing about? Why was it so hard to get to know the dude he felt he knew better than anyone? And, worst of all, why did the thought of Akira with a girlfriend make him so upset? Jealousy?  _ O-of Akira, for havin’ a girlfriend. _

“What’s wrong?” Makoto asks as they step outside of the sliding doors, “You look like you might throw up.”

“Huh?” Ryuji’s pulled from his thoughts, “Oh, uh, nothin’. Just can’t believe Akira’s got girls hangin’ off his arm and I can barely get one to talk to me.”

Even as he says it, though, it doesn’t feel quite right. He feels that weird sense he gets when he’s lyin’ to his mom about cleaning his room—knowing she won’t go to check so he probably won’t get caught, but knowing it’s a fib all the same. 

Makoto snorts a laugh.

“I wish I could offer some advice, but I’m about as bad at talking to girls as you are. If it weren’t for Haru’s blatant pursuit, I might still be watching her from around the corner.” She appraises Ryuji from the corner of her eye: in this afternoon light, his skin seems to glow. “You’ll get there eventually. When you find the right person, it won’t be something you have to think about. You’ll be pulled to them in a way you can’t explain, and everything will just feel…” she frowns as she searches for the words, “... _ right.  _ A bit like ‘oh, there you are,’ I guess?”

Ryuji’s stomach ache doesn’t go away. In fact it feels a little bit worse.

“R-right,” he nods. “Thanks, Makoto.”

 

* * *

 

**Princess Bubblegum has entered Prom Sucks**

 

**Princess Bubblegum:** How was the convenience store?

**help:** a bust

**Madam President:** Yeah, it wasn’t great. Helped us figure out what not to do, but didn’t bring us any closer to an actual idea.

**Princess Bubblegum:** :// this isn’t good. We’re running out of time…

**help:** well aware, thx

**Pamona Sprout:** Don’t worry ryuji!! We will get there, promise!! :))

**help:** oh hold on a sec

 

**help has added Yusuke to the group Prom Sucks**

 

**help:** yusuke said he could help so he might as well be in the group

**Pamona Sprout:** Welcome prom date!!! ;)

**Madam President:** Hey, that was just for show!

**Pamona Sprout:** :*

**Yusuke:** what is this?

**help:** a group chat to help me with prom ideas

**Yusuke:** another one? Who is in this one?

**help:** the girls minus futaba for obvious reasons lol

**Yusuke:** yes, she’d find a way to mess with you in ways beyond understanding. A good choice, I think.

**Yusuke:** so the purpose is to figure out a way to ask Akira to prom? Have you ruled anything out yet?

**Princess Bubblegum:** mostly anything too romantic.

**help:** p much. nothin too sappy

**Yusuke:** I strongly believe you should reconsider. Romance, even platonic, can mean quite a deal to a person. Akira would be touched to see you go to such lengths.

**Yusuke:** I imagine, anyway.

**Yusuke:** I know nothing for certain.

 

* * *

“You know prom is this weekend, right?” Akira asks, phone sandwiched between his cheek and shoulder, fingers flying wildly over the keys. His eyes scan his computer screen, darting quickly as he keeps an eye out for the sneak attack he knows is coming. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryuji responds, distracted, and Akira can hear the keys to his keyboard in the background, “I’m gettin’ to it. I didn’t get a ton of time to prepare, y’know.” There’s a shot from the left that Akira barely manages to dodge.

“I still contend that I need a knight in shining--shit,” Akira grunts, his character falling lifelessly to the ground as Ryuji’s stands triumphantly just a few feet away. Ryuji chuckles lightly.

“A knight in shining shit? Kinda weird dude, didn’t know you were into that,” he teases. The  _ GAME OVER  _ screen scrolls up, showing their score, Ryuji ridiculously far in the lead. Akira’s normally the one to best Ryuji, but whenever they play  _ and  _ talk on the phone, Akira can’t help getting distracted. Ryuji breathes heavily when he plays, unknowingly muttering under his breath curse words that take Akira’s mind  _ far  _ away from the game. His cheeks flush in embarrassment that he’s lost because of his hormones and he’s thankful Futaba wasn’t here to try to “coach” him like she sometimes insists.

“Hilarious,” Akira deadpans. He glances over at the windowsill where his clock rests: 10:30pm. Beneath it soundly sleeping is Morgana, curled into himself, and just the sight of him makes Akira’s bones feel heavy and tired. “It’s getting kind of late,” he muses.

Ryuji yawns over the line. “Yeah, guess so.”

There’s a long pause. These pauses get more frequent these days whenever it’s time to hang up. Akira knows why  _ he  _ doesn’t want to hang up but can’t figure out why Ryuji doesn’t just say goodbye and go. He selfishly, perhaps foolishly imagines it’s because Ryuji doesn’t want to say goodbye either.

“Yeah,” Akira dumbly responds. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Another long pause. Akira shifts in his seat, still staring at the GAME OVER screen. Ryuji’s breathing comes through his phone, soft and quiet in his ear. Without even trying, his brain conjures up a thousand images of sleeping soundly next to Ryuji, holding him, touching him,  _ kissing him _ . His cheeks burn a little hotter.

* * *

On the other side of town, Ryuji’s face feels hot and uncomfortable.  _ Hang up! What are you doing?? Or at least  _ say  _ something you idiot!  _ his brain screams, but his body makes no notice. Instead his fist closes around the loose material of his shorts, focused solely on the uneven breathing coming from Akira on the other line. Inexplicably he starts seein’  _ stuff _ : Akira in his arms, Akira pressed up against a wall, Akira from below--

 

* * *

Ryuji coughs suddenly, bringing Akira out of his trance. He reaches down to turn the computer off and turns, checking the clock again. 10:36pm.

“Uh, s-sorry,” Ryuji stammers, “I, uh, I…” and then he coughs again. Something about it is forced, like...like he feels awkward. With shame Akira realizes he’s made Ryuji uncomfortable, keeping him on the line in simple silence again. It was interesting, the line that their phone calls seemed to walk these days. Most of the time they were the easiest thing in the world--on weekends, they could talk for hours without noticing. Sometimes, though, there was this...heaviness. Like the conversation was weighted. Neither ever brought attention to it, but Akira could tell when Ryuji was feeling it; like now, for instance. Akira drudges from deep inside his charm--a cheap but effective defense mechanism.

“What’s wrong? I got you tongue-tied?”

“ _ No, _ ” Ryuji says, lightning quick, “I, uh, I just-“

“Don’t worry, prom date,” Akira coos, forcing all his anxiety to shut up and disappear, “I promise to only  _ sort of  _ take your breath away on Friday.”

“ _ Akira,  _ cut it out, I-“

“Goodnight, Ryupunzel,” Akira interrupts. He hangs up sudden, quick, a coward’s move but necessary given the situation. With the empty and silent phone laying heavy in his hand, Akira sighs. It’s not like him to get all bent out of shape over a crush; he’s had them plenty of times before, either managed to get the person or get over them, but this isn’t like that. 

Before, back home, things were always...complicated. Friendships weren’t like the ones he had here. They were like business transactions, a clear “what can you give me” established from the get-go. They weren’t inherently sinister or anything, but they were definitely void of tenderness. In fact, with Y-

Akira sighs. It’s not worth thinking about now. He has new friends, real friends, and his bond with Ryuji is unlike anything he’s ever experienced.  _ That’s  _ what’s worth putting his thoughts and efforts into. This is the stuff that really matters.

When he finally falls asleep an hour later, he dreams of sunshine on his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> expect me to be as slow with this as i am with TMTMATT lmao BUT i love both dearly and plan to write for both of them regularly, i just don't have much free time D: 
> 
> come talk to me [ where i go on mass reblogging kicks for an hour and then disappear for the next twelve ](%E2%80%9Dgoodestboyryuji.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) and we can screech about my bright and shiny son
> 
> **that lyric thing ann and ryuji did in middle school is a real thing i did with my middle school boyfriend that's literally how we had a fight that lead to breaking up, just freakin sending dramatic song lyrics to each other #onlyinmiddleschool**


End file.
